


A Breach In Time

by Author_Of_Sin



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Band-Aid for your Solas Pain, Eventual OC Lavellan/Dorian, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Fan Art, Headcanon Accepted, Headcanons Everywhere!, I love fan art, I swear I'll find it soon, I will love you forever if you do fan art for this or any of my stories, Implied Sexual Content, M/M, Meta Knowledge Lavellan Because Time Travel, Mortal to Immortal, My canon Hawke is an elf because mods are awesome like that, Not Trespasser Compliant, Releasing the Gods, See picture of her in chapter 15 for proof, There's a plot in here somewhere, Time Travel, Time travel exists in DA now so I can do crap like this, crazy shit, eventual M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-12-25
Updated: 2016-12-07
Packaged: 2018-03-03 11:50:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 24
Words: 127,647
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2849864
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Author_Of_Sin/pseuds/Author_Of_Sin
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Warnings: This is heavily AU (not really an alternate universe, but more alternate timeline). Also will contain many, many, many spoilers. Solas/Lavellan, but not quite your average love tale. [Now with fan art!]</p><p>Summary: Time is a funny thing. It twists and weaves its way into our lives without us even noticing, changing us in a million different ways every second of every day. Sometimes it reveals things to us. Sometimes, when time does not flow as we expect it to, it gives us a second chance.<br/>This is the story of Fen'da'len Lavellan, a woman who has lived it all before, only to be tossed back to live through it again. Will she be able to change things for the better, or will her actions ripple out into time and disrupt the future in cataclysmic ways? Only time will tell. Either way, she refuses to live in the dark, this time.</p><p>Edit 1: This fic does <i>not</i> contain Trespasser spoilers; however, there are vaguely similar events set to occur.</p><p>Edit 2: This fic now features hover-text translations!</p><p> </p><p>  <b>---Abandoned---</b></p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

She wakes in barred shackles, her back stiff, knees and legs aching, head pounding. She thinks this the extent of her damages, when suddenly, her hand feels as if it’s trying to split itself apart. She cries out and claps her eyes on it, a glowing, angry scar on her palm that flares sporadically with energy unknown.  
  
Except she does know this energy. She’s intimately familiar with it, in fact. She stares at it in abject horror. She had thought herself done with this curse. The creator of it is long gone, as is the object that had branded it into her skin to begin with, shattered and lost to time. Time... wait. Why is she in shackles?  
  
The clanging sound of the cell door opening resounds in her ears as it echoes off the bars and walls of her cage, her ill-adjusted eyes looking up to see none other than Cassandra and Leliana walking through the door, the guards surrounding her sheathing their swords as one and standing at attention. Cassandra is angrier than she remembers; she can see the rage and pain in her eyes as the seeker she knows so well closes in on her menacingly.  
  
Cassandra circles her, leaning in to press the question close to her ear, an intimidation tactic. “Tell me why we shouldn’t kill you now,” she straightens, her voice shaking with a mixture of rage and grief as she continues, “The conclave is destroyed. Everyone who attended is dead. Except for you.” She watches as Cassandra points an accusatory finger at her once more, just as she had before, well over a year ago now.  
  
She has to gather her wits, and quickly. How she is here again, why she was sent back, as shocking, disorienting and _insane_ as it may be, these questions can wait. If this is real, her life is in immediate danger, and she must answer properly, or face death.  
  
“What do you mean, ‘everyone’s dead’?” she asks, remembering how she’d answered before, barely in the nick of time.  
  
Cassandra grabs her left hand, lifting it. “Explain _this_.”  
  
Just as before, she can’t obey the seeker’s order. There was no logical explanation for the mark before Adamant, before... him.  
  
She barely keeps herself from shuddering as her mind provides fodder for the flame that nestles in the open wound he’d left on her soul. Every time it finds fuel, it singes away one more tiny piece of her.  
  
“You’re lying!” Cassandra shoves her, providing a welcome distraction from her thoughts as her mind focused sharply on the task at hand. Good, yes, this is what she needs. Getting distracted by... _that_... is not a good idea right now.  
  
She manages to convince Cassandra once again that she intends to help. The shackles are removed, replaced by rough, thick rope. She could burn through it, if she wished, but she won’t. She knows all too well what is about to happen.  
  
The rope is cut. The journey begins.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> By the by, if any of you are interested, here's my info:  
> Skype: shannaleia  
> Tumblr: [Actually-Fen-Harel](http://actually-fen-harel.tumblr.com/)  
> Twitter: [Actually_Fen_Harel](https://twitter.com/Spyke1985)  
> DeviantArt: [ActuallyFenHarel](http://actuallyfenharel.deviantart.com/)
> 
> I'm on Skype 24/7, unless I'm asleep, or not at home.
> 
> Want my book? Get it here: [The Enemy In Me](http://www.amazon.com/dp/B00QZ5AI1K)
> 
> Thanks for reading! If you enjoy the story, or this chapter in particular, please feel free to leave a review with your thoughts! I love reading comments, and reply to all of them. <3


	2. Chapter 2

  
[Fen'da'len Lavellan, by Dragonofthedark] 

There are demons everywhere.

 

The rope has long since been sliced from her wrists, and as Cassandra charges one of the demons, Lavellan spies the staff that was left there before, abandoned by the mage that had once held it. She picks it up and defends herself just in time from the demon that Cassandra doesn’t see behind her, saving herself with a few well placed sparks of energy summoned from the Fade. When the battle is over, when Cassandra demands she disarm, she huffs and shakes her head.

“I don’t need the staff to protect myself. I haven’t used my magic against you yet, have I?” She watches as Cassandra realizes the truth of her words, sheathing her sword and nodding in solidarity.

They fight through more demon hordes, drawing ever nearer to the first rift, to the place where her destiny is decided. She shudders as she remembers who they will meet there.

Across the lake, through more demons, up the small hill and they throw themselves into the fray once more. She casts her sparks at the first demon she sees, willing it to arc out to the next target, and the next, singeing the air and Faded flesh alike; leaving the smell of burnt skin and ionized air in its wake.

The fight ends abruptly, and her wrist is enclosed in a vice-like grip as her marked hand is flung toward the waiting rift. She needs no instruction, but she allows the intrusion regardless, just as she had the first time. The rift closes with a crackling boom, throwing her arm out of his reach as they are pushed back by the force of the closure.

She turns to face him, pain in her eyes. She watches his relieved joy turn to a confusion that flickers across his face for but a moment, gone in the next instant. Introductions are made. She wastes no time asking questions to which she already knows the answers, moving things along as quickly as she can so they can get to the breach.

Chancellor Roderick makes his accusations and demands, reaching out in desperation to fling the blame on the first person he can. He is angry, but she understands it this time. She wishes now that she had Cole’s aptitude to help and make others forget. She would help Roderick now, if she could.

They head to the breach with a direct charge. No point in wasting any more time. For now, she trusts him at her back. For now, she has to.

The vision, when it comes, shows her the true events, unclouded by her previously lost memories; she wonders for a moment if they will see the same vision. They do not. What she wouldn’t have given for them to see the truth right then would fill a thimble. But the fates are cruel.

She has to suppress the ridiculous urge she has to laugh when the pride demon exits the rift. His very name means pride. That should’ve warned her from the start, but she was never one for paying heed to the warning signs.

The battle rages on and a few times she doesn’t pay enough attention to the minor demons, taking a few hits more than she did the first time as a result. He notices, casting a barrier over her, despite needing it just as badly himself. She turns and smashes her staff into the demon pestering her, driving the sharp crystal end through the demon’s eye. It withers and melts into the ground. She turns and delivers a volley of bolts into the thick scales of the pride demon, doing little more than pissing it off further.

Finally, the last blow is struck, the demon falls. She turns and puts every ounce of concentration into the mark, funneling her own reserves of mana into it as she tries to close the rift. She knows it won’t seal the breach, but perhaps she can give them some extra time, now that she understands how the mark works. If she can just put enough into it...

The rift closes, knocking them back predictably. But it’s the explosion of aftershock when energy shoots up towards the breach and hits it that knocks them all flat. Her head hits something hard on the ground as she falls.

The last thing she feels is thin fingers on warm hands flowing with healing energy as they check her for injury.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> By the by, if any of you are interested, here's my info:  
> Skype: shannaleia  
> Tumblr: [Actually-Fen-Harel](http://actually-fen-harel.tumblr.com/)  
> Twitter: [Actually_Fen_Harel](https://twitter.com/Spyke1985)  
> DeviantArt: [ActuallyFenHarel](http://actuallyfenharel.deviantart.com/)
> 
> I'm on Skype 24/7, unless I'm asleep, or not at home.
> 
> Want my book? Get it here: [The Enemy In Me](http://www.amazon.com/dp/B00QZ5AI1K)
> 
> Thanks for reading! If you enjoy the story, or this chapter in particular, please feel free to leave a review with your thoughts! I love reading comments, and reply to all of them. <3


	3. Chapter 3

She wakes with a gasp, her eyes meeting the wooden rafters of the ceiling above her bed in Haven. She brings her hand up to her face, her fingers wiping the sleep from her eyes as she sighs, unwilling to accept that she is still here, still trapped in this nightmare of the past relived.

A gasp and the clattering of a small object falling to the ground makes her instincts kick in, jerking herself upright to see the elven serving girl standing there, agape. She listens to the words tumbling out of the girl’s mouth, compassion and sadness tugging her heart as she remembers that the girl does not survive the retreat from Haven.

“ _Ir abelas, Lethallan_. I did not mean to startle you.”

She watches as the girl falls softly to the ground, her head bowed low almost in worship, begging the ‘Herald’s' pardon and blessing. Lavellan shakes her head and slides off the bed, touching the girl’s shoulder.

“No, please stand. You are not below me, _falon_. No-one is. I thank you for the respect, but you need not dirty your knees on my account. Please, let Seeker Cassandra know I am awake, if you would. I shall be along shortly.”

The girl nods eagerly, giving a smile Lavellan thought should be seen more often, “Of course, right away, Ser. Thank you.”

Lavellan smiles as the girl turns to go. She sighs heavily when the girl closes the door behind her and sinks back onto the bed, propping her elbows on her knees and resting her head in her hands. She knows it will be but a few minutes before Cassandra seeks her out herself, if Lavellan doesn’t go to the Chantry, but she needs a minute to herself. She feels she might break if she doesn’t have it. It will be the only moment to herself she will have for the next year.

She remembers all that happens, every little mission, every object she retrieves, every conversation she has. What went wrong? Why was she sent back? How? Surely Alexius’ magic didn’t have consequences this far into the future? She ponders what had happened the day she suddenly found herself back in Haven’s dungeon once more. It had been an average day, nothing out of the ordinary, really. She’d saved the world a few weeks prior, was recovering from the last few scrapes she’d won in the victory against their enemy, nothing exciting.

She’d gone to bed and cried herself to sleep.

Like every night since...

No. Not again. She couldn’t think of that. Not right now.

Regardless, there was nothing unique about that night. No flashing lights, no green time portal; she hadn’t even begun to dream yet.

She sighs and stands; she is out of time to wonder. She tucks away the dread she feels at being here again, at looking into the eyes of every single person she will fail to save. She looks at the tiny mirror on the wall, schooling her features into the neutral bewilderment she remembers feeling on this day so long ago. Or, at least, a close approximation of it. Good enough to fool the average onlooker.

She reaches the door and pulls the latch, opening and closing it behind her, turning to face the crowd outside her temporary dwelling. The soldiers salute her, the people behind them talking in hushed whispers until they catch sight of her, then turning to stare before remembering to lower their heads in respect. She walks down the path between them silently, trying not to look too closely at the faces. She doesn’t need to see one that will make her resolve falter. Not yet.

She makes it to the Chantry doors, hefting them open and letting her eyes adjust to the dimness within quietly. She breathes in the scent of incense and burning candles as she heads towards the far door, hearing the sounds of an argument already in full swing behind it as she nears. The first time, she’d listened for a few moments before walking in. But she knows what this is about. She pushes the door open and strides in, taking in the looks of flustered Roderick, annoyed Cassandra, and the cool, neutral Leliana.

Threats are conveyed, the founding of a new Inquisition soundly announced by Cassandra, and Lavellan shakes her hand, agreeing to join them. Again.

Once more, the journey begins.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> By the by, if any of you are interested, here's my info:  
> Skype: shannaleia  
> Tumblr: [Actually-Fen-Harel](http://actually-fen-harel.tumblr.com/)  
> Twitter: [Actually_Fen_Harel](https://twitter.com/Spyke1985)  
> DeviantArt: [ActuallyFenHarel](http://actuallyfenharel.deviantart.com/)
> 
> I'm on Skype 24/7, unless I'm asleep, or not at home.
> 
> Want my book? Get it here: [The Enemy In Me](http://www.amazon.com/dp/B00QZ5AI1K)
> 
> Thanks for reading! If you enjoy the story, or this chapter in particular, please feel free to leave a review with your thoughts! I love reading comments, and reply to all of them. <3


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **A/N: So now that we've caught up, things are going to slow down. A lot. This one's a lot longer, though not all of the chapters will be this long. I just... couldn't stop.**   
>  **Anyway, enjoy. Let me know how you're liking the story. Or if you aren't. Or don't. I'm not gonna beg. :)**
> 
> Translations(basic):  
> Ir abelas: Very sorry  
> Ma: I, you, me, my, your, etc.  
> Tel'abelas: Not sorry  
> Ma'serannas: I'm grateful  
> Shemlen: Quickened, used to refer to humans, or non elvhen in general.  
> Garas: Come, beckon, follow  
> Atisha: Peace  
> Hamin: Relax. Used together they basically mean 'calm down', or 'chill out'. Also "sleep peacefully", if used as Hamin atisha.  
> If I missed any, let me know. I got these from the wiki. That might not always be the case. ;)
> 
> * * *
> 
> Translations will be provided in hover text, as well. Simply hover your cursor over the text you wish translated, and a hover text will appear.

It all seems so surreal.

She's spent the better part of the past two weeks in the Hinterlands, gathering resources and running errands for half the countryside. Today she wants a moment for everyone to relax. No missions today. No gods-blasted rifts to close.

She walks around Haven, watching people working, listening to the never-ending recitals of the Chant of Light, scoffing and shaking her head quietly. While she doesn't entirely disagree with the chant, she hears it so often that it's lost most of it's poignancy for her. And she doesn't believe in the Maker.

She knows the gods of elvhen lore exist. The gods her people have worshiped for thousands of years. While they were wrong about many things, they were not wrong about that.

The voices from the well still speak to her just as strongly as the day she drank from it. And even if they didn't, she knows one of those gods is standing quietly by the apothecary's hut, probably looking up and shaking his head at the hole in the sky.

She wonders what he really thinks about the Breach, what his hidden thoughts are on the hell he unleashed on the world? Not that he personally tore the hole in the sky; she doubted he would've chosen that fate for Thedas, no matter his motivations. But it was his foci, that he let slip from his grasp, which caused all of this.

And this time, she is no longer an ignorant elf from clan Lavellan. This time, she is armed with the wisdom and knowledge to speak to him, if not as an equal, then at least not as a child; fumbling to understand, to grasp the nature of the things he speaks to her of.

She wanders to the gates, swinging them open to stand watching Cullen training his soldiers. She remembers flirting with him at first the last time, until the mystery of the elf in simple clothing had caught her eye. She realizes now that simple facade is yet another of his tricks, a means to blend in. Even his endless fount of knowledge about everything under the sky was shielded by him, with the thin disguise of his claim to having learned it all in the Fade. What a load of wolf shit.

She'd been too blinded by love to see it the last time. Even the voices of the well hadn't revealed his treachery to her before it happened, because she had never thought to ask until it was too late. After, she asked. After, they told her everything.

She'd sought him out in the Fade then, seen the vision of him stealing the power of Mythal, her lifeless husk collapsing to the ground under his watchful gaze. She'd gasped, the tears spilling from her eyes as she watched him turn sharply in her direction, though she was never sure if he'd actually seen her or not, because his eyes...

It had been too much. She'd woken in a cold sweat, gasping for air as if her lungs were collapsed by the weight of what she'd witnessed. How desperate was he for power, that he would steal the divinity of another god to achieve his goals? What were his goals, to begin with? The voices had whispered to her as much as they knew, but it was not enough. They did not know what his current plans were, only what he had once done, long ago. Another thing her people had gotten wrong.

She sighs as she turns away from the flash of steel and the dull thuds of wooden shields clashing against one another. She knows she must speak to him at some point. She's been avoiding all attempts he's made to speak to her so far, shifting them to conversations with her other party members. Now, she has little choice. She must be careful in how she deals with him; she cannot reveal too much of what she knows, or he will likely flee. How long will she be able to deceive a deceiver, however? She has to be very careful, indeed.

She decides to visit Adan first, to give her some time to steel her nerves. She remembers having to retrieve some notes for him anyway, may as well 'find out' about that and go get them. A mindless task to give her more time to consider.

She's trailing up the steps to the Apothecary's hut when she hears her title called by his voice. She barely manages to silence the groan building in her throat; she is not ready for this yet.

"Herald, a moment, if you will." His voice, quietly confident and smooth as silk, feels like shards of broken glass to her heart.

She turns, crossing her arms rather than keeping them open; one more barrier she can comfort herself with as she looks at him.

"Solas, right?" her mind burns as she forces her mouth to say his name once again.

She notes his minute hesitation as he swallows the fact that she'd had to confirm his name with him. As if he weren't quite important enough in her mind to remember if that was right or not, despite having accompanied her since the beginning. He quickly covers it with a carefully gracious smile.

"Yes. I wanted to ask you something, if you can spare the time?"

She nods, rather than trust her voice at the moment.

"Since we met, you have seemed... pained at my presence. I confess, I am still not quite sure what to make of that. Unless, of course, my assumption is incorrect. I hope I do not appear too presumptuous; considering I hardly know you, yet. I would simply not wish to cause you any undue stress; you are already under enough strain as it is. You seem to be avoiding me, and I would like to know why," his eyes convey nothing but honest concern.

She hesitates, looking down as she tries to find a way out, speaking before slowly lifting her gaze to his.

"You... you remind me of someone who was once very dear to me. Someone who hurt me deeply. You even have the same eyes. It startles me, that's all. I'm sorry if I've come off as harsh, things have been happening so quickly, I really haven't had much time for pleasantries. If it's not rifts, it's someone needing me to retrieve this or that."

She watches as he absorbs her confession, sympathy coming over his features, along with a cloud of regret.

"Oh. I am sorry if I make you uncomfortable, that was not my intention."

She waved his concern off with her hand, quickly returning it to her crossed arm.

"No need to apologize. It's not your fault; you can't help how you look. I'll get over it soon enough."

She grits her teeth slightly as she smiles in what she hopes is a reassuring way.

"So," he looks down, then up again quickly, a look she knows means he is both testing her and sating his curiosity all at once, "The Herald of Andraste. That is quite the title. How do you feel about that?"

She chuckles uneasily. "It makes me uncomfortable at best, though I understand why the masses who believe in such things need it. It would not have been my first choice; but, it's better than 'the prisoner that killed the Most Holy and the entirety of the gathering at the conclave'."

He raises a brow slightly. "It is good that you have the wisdom to understand their need, even if you do not desire the title yourself. Let us hope that once the Breach is sealed, they do not cast you aside, as they have done to so many of your people."

"My people? Are you not elvhen yourself?" she knows the answer, of course, but she must play the part properly, if she is to play at all.

He at least has the decency to look somewhat contrite before he raises his head and explains, "Apologies. I do not see myself as belonging to either the Dalish or city elves, in truth. I have spent too much time in the Fade, seeking the knowledge lost to the time of the ancient elves, to truly feel as if I belong among them anymore."

"You sound as if you've spent more time in the Fade than the average mage, then. If I may ask, how much have you explored it?"

This time, both his eyebrows raise.

"A great deal, though one can never fully explore all of the Fade, of course. It is infinite."

She nods, "This is true. I'm just curious if we've explored similar paths or not. I have explored quite a bit myself, even before all this."

He smiles, his brow knitting together slightly, his expression one of a scholar studying a fascinating subject.

"Have you indeed? I did not think to find a fellow dreamer here. I must say, I find myself curious to know if you have considered Fade magic as a field of study. It can be quite useful, in many circumstances."

She chuckles, "I have, though I've only learned a few things on my own. My clan's Keeper didn't exactly approve, though she didn't entirely discourage it, either."

His expression darkens slightly, "I can imagine. Not many of the Dalish value magic outside the realm of the typical paths of study. It is disheartening to see. But, come, will you show me what you have learned? I could teach you some of it, if you are willing, though I am sure there are others who are better at it than I."

She scoffs in her mind, but nods, showing none of her ridicule externally. "Certainly. We should go outside the walls, though; I wouldn't want to cause a ruckus."

He sweeps his hand to the side with a smile, "Lead the way."

She considers grabbing her gear, but decides against it and turns, heading down the steps and by the tavern, winding through the small gatherings of people on the way. It isn't until they are past the tavern that he speaks again.

"You neglected to tell me where you have visited whilst traveling the Fade. If it is not an imposition, I am quite curious to know."

She smiles. Oh, the irony, that he should be asking her these questions, when she was the one asking him before. Now, she knows. Now, she's been to many of the places he'd spoken of, dreamt there, learned there. Now, she has ages of memories in her head to fill the gaps of her own knowledge.

"Hmm. One of the most notable places for recent history was Ostagar."

"Really? I have been there myself. The juxtapositions of memory there are quite fascinating. I am surprised to hear you have been there, however. Were you not with your clan when you went there?"

She shakes her head, "They were nearby, but I wanted to explore the area myself. It wasn't until I returned that I found out our Keeper had sent two of our hunters to keep watch over me from a distance as I slept. She's never really trusted that I could resist temptation on my little excursions."

He cocks his head slightly, features curious. "Temptation? Did she believe your will weak enough that you would consort with demons as you slept?"

She sighs, "I truly don't know. I know she feared such a thing happening, but whether she believed me incapable of tending to myself, or if she was simply paranoid, I am unsure."

He frowns, gazing ahead as if in deep thought. "If your Keeper truly believed your will was that weak, she was wrong."

She snorts, looking at him with a raised eyebrow. "Is that so? And what has lead you to this astounding conclusion?"

He stops just outside the gates, turning to her with a thoughtful, but serious expression. She halts and looks at him in kind, waiting.

"If you were prone to such weakness, you would not still be standing here. The mark on your hand would have killed you as you slept. Instead, we are having this conversation, and you are alive and well, the mark stabilized. Or, simply the act of you walking physically in the Fade would have killed you. What you have survived is truly remarkable, and I do not think it would have been possible, if you did not have an extreme amount of control and will to support you. It is remarkable."

She raises an eyebrow coyly, "So it would seem."

She smiles and walks on, heading toward the outskirts of the soldier's encampment. She hears him follow after a few moments, chuckling to herself as she walks. She quiets before he catches up to her, but apparently not quickly enough.

"What is so amusing, if I may ask?"

"You may, though you might not enjoy the answer I provide."

He huffs, though she can't tell if it's frustration or amusement. His expression is perplexed. "Humor me."

"You."

"Me?"

"Yes, you. You are studying me, as a specimen, a field of interest, as if I am some rare tome that contains unknown magic. I assure you, despite my mark, I am no such treasure."

He takes a step back, as if her words were a physical force, his face a mixture of emotions that flash before her eyes almost too quickly to recognize, save one: open curiosity. He finally settles on remorse before he speaks.

"I apologize once more if I have made you uncomfortable. It seems to be a recurring theme."

She smiles at his apology, " _Ma tel'abelas_ , Solas. You may study me as you wish. It does not offend me. I simply find it amusing. So long as my amusement isn't a problem for you, I don't see an issue."

His brow lifts, though his eyes are guarded, " _Ma serannas_ , Herald. You are far more forgiving than my rudeness deserves."

She shakes her head, "It is not rudeness to be curious. But I wish that you would not call me that. The _shemlen_ may call me what comforts them, but I would prefer you think of me as more than my title. Or less, if you wish. Other, at the very least."

His brow crinkles, the corner of his mouth lifting slightly, "What would you prefer I call you, then?"

"My name, if you are comfortable with that. You are likely one of the few who could speak it without mangling the pronunciation."

He looks ahead at the valley before them, brow still creased, lips no longer smiling. "There is power in names. Are you sure you wish you give me that power?"

She smirks, "You speak of calling my name in the Fade and being able to summon me to you, or visiting me in turn, yes?"

He steals a somewhat surprised glance at her, before rooting his gaze back onto the far side of the valley once more.

"Then you are fully aware of the power I speak of. Interesting," he turns to her then, halting their progress at the edge of the frozen river, "Are you certain you wish to grant me this power, then, knowing what it could entail? We are both dreamers, however, we do not know each other very well. Are you sure you would trust me with that knowledge?"

His gaze searches her face as she turns it up to him, though she is keenly aware that what he is looking at is her _vallaslin_. It is barely visible, nearly the color of her skin, but in direct sunlight, it is visible to the keen eye. The mark of Fen'Harel. She watches as his eyes widen at the realization that she bears his rarely seen mark. She bites the inside of her bottom lip to suppress the smirk that tries to form on her face. He focuses on her eyes, seeming to shake himself free of the shock he felt.

She tilts her head to the side, appearing as if she is considering his question. Her subtle action highlights the trail of his mark down her neck and below the collar of her robe. She watches his eyes trail down, noting the subtle tightening in his throat as he observes the path of her _vallaslin_.

She speaks then, straightening and looking him in the eyes as his gaze snaps up to meet hers, "The one you remind me of... I see much of him in you. He betrayed me in the end, but one cannot live on an island amongst the world. If I do not learn to trust again, he will have won. I cannot allow that. My clan was Lavellan; though, I find it likely that I am not destined to return to them. My name, the name I chose when I chose my _vallaslin_ , is Fen'da'len."

A perfect blend of amusement and concern, with a considerable amount of wonder fixes itself on his face. He looks at her for a few moments, as if he is considering what to make of her. When he finally speaks, his voice is choked at first, either from emotion or holding laughter in, she cannot tell. Likely both.

"Y-you chose this name? Wolf Cub? And Fen'Harel's brand?"

"Yes."

"I realize this might sound impertinent, but I must ask: why? Do not the Dalish fear the Dread Wolf? Do they not tell fanciful tales of him being the betrayer of the old gods, the doom of the elves? Why would you choose such things for yourself? Surely your Keeper objected."

She grins, looking down and chuckling as she feels a slight flush rise on her cheeks, "She did indeed. But she also knew I was never one to follow the rules. I have always been a rebel. I was the one who transported the statue of Fen'Harel for my clan, who prayed to him to guard the places where we laid our heads to sleep every night. My Keeper knew I reveled in this task from a young age. One night, we were camped at the edge of the Korcari Wilds, and a young woman found me as I tended to Fen'Harel's statue. She was alone, simply curious, I expect. She did surprise me, though, as she was not a young woman when she first appeared to me."

His raised eyebrow conveys his curiosity, "Oh? What was she?"

She smirks, "A wolf. I must admit, when I first saw her, I knew she was not simply a wolf, but in my ignorance, I mistook her for Fen'Harel himself. I was very young, so the mistake was easily made. When I fell to my knees in front of the wolf, thinking my prayers had finally been answered -that Fen'Harel himself had made himself known to me, that he had finally come to deliver me from a clan I never truly belonged in- she transformed, revealing herself as the young human woman she was. I begged her to show me how she did it. I don't know why, but she took pity on me."

She looks around, the tree line surrounding the old Apothecary's house behind her catching her eye. " _Garas_ ," she takes his hand, "follow me."

It isn't until they are well within the cover of the wooded area, away from the eyes of anyone else, that she lets go of his hand. She'd forgotten how warm his hands were, even in the frigid cold. Her traitorous heart leaps at the feeling, but she quells it as best she can.

She turns to face him, a feral grin on her lips as she holds her hand up, signaling him to wait. It's been a long time since she's done this, but the memory surfaces, the magic swells, and she lets herself fall forward onto large black paws. She shakes her fur coat out, stretching and luxuriating in the sensation, before she sits on her haunches in the snow and looks up at him, cocking her head to the side, ears alert.

He smiles. It's small at first, only a tug up at the corner of his lips, his arms crossing over his chest as he looks down at her. She tilts her head the other way, letting herself pant as she looks at him openly. His smile slowly broadens into a grin, lowering himself to a relaxed seated position, one knee up, resting his arm on it as he looks at her on her level. She moves a bit closer, leaving herself within reach, but sitting a polite distance away from him. Small concessions. Baby steps.

She sees his fingers twitch, but keeps eye contact, not wanting to discourage him. His arm leaves its resting place on his knee as he offers her his hand, raising an eyebrow in question. She ducks her nose under it, still keeping her eyes trained on his, giving permission, but watching. He gives a small stroke up the bridge of her nose, trailing up between her eyes before moving his hand away. She cocks her head to the side curiously, trying to impart what she's thinking, _'That's it?'_. When he doesn't move to do anything else right away, she gives a low whimper and sinks to her belly, resting her chin on her paws and looking up at him pitifully.

He chuckles and looks away for a moment, as if embarrassed. Whether it is for his sake or hers, she is unsure. Perhaps he thinks her foolish for such a display? It would've been rather undignified indeed, if she were still in her natural form. Perhaps that is the cause of his hesitation. If that is the case-

She catches a scent that is not theirs nearby, standing quickly, her great head pointed toward the origin of the foreign scent. A quiet growl starts in the back of her throat, her hackles raising stiffly on her back. Her ears pick up the clunking sounds of steel plate armor. The lack of care taken to conceal the tromping steps is evident, as she hears twigs snap under boots that would march to a soldier's beat on more sure footing. She darts in the direction of the disturbance, circling around carefully, padding lightly, investigating. She nears the commotion that disturbs the forest, the scent growing stronger in her wet nostrils. Finally, she gets a clear view of fur tufting out over rich fabric and polished metal.

She sighs in relief. She can avoid Cullen if she must. She doubles back quickly to find Solas where she'd left him, though he is standing now, raising an eyebrow at her in question. She shakes herself, dismissing the transformation and standing before him in her original form again.

She whispers, "Cullen," watching understanding dawn on him as he replies with a quick nod.

He whispers back in kind, "Perhaps we should retire to a more secluded spot, if you wish to continue uninterrupted?"

She shakes her head, "Not yet. He'll just keep looking if he doesn't find us. He's an ex-Templar, it's what they do. Old habits are hard to break."

Solas grimaces and sighs quietly. He looks distinctly uncomfortable with the situation, though she can't quite place why. She rolls her eyes and decides to employ one of her Fade magic tricks. She waves her hand over him slowly as she starts to hear Cullen's clumsy trampling of the forest floor with her elvhen ears, creating a pocket in the veil to hide Solas for the time being. She can maintain it long enough to send Cullen away.

Finally, he arrives, stopping abruptly as he rounds a tree to see her, apparently alone.

"Herald! Are you alright? I saw you heading this way a half hour ago, I was a bit worried when you didn't return."

She smiles easily at him. She's always liked Cullen; he was never anything but genuine with her. "Yes, Cullen, I am well. Thank you for your concern. I just need to get out for a bit, breathe some air, take a walk. I promise I won't go far. I just need to clear my head. I'll be along soon."

He gives a small bow, "Of course, I understand. By your leave."

She nods and smiles kindly as she leans back against a tree twice as wide as she is while he turns to leave, gazing up at the sunlight filtering through the trees. She is the picture of ease, visually confirming her story flawlessly. When she sees the last flash of steel disappear with Cullen through the trees, she snaps her fingers, releasing her spell. Just in time, too, as she's nearly depleted her mana. Solas slowly appears through a shimmer of the veil, fully emerging seconds later.

He crosses his arms over his chest, eying her speculatively.

She raises an amused eyebrow at him, "Yes?"

He seems to consider his words carefully. She watches the muscles of his jaw twitch as he continues to bore through her with stormy eyes. When he finally does speak, the pride dripping from his voice is unmistakable.

"You must have been the absolute terror of your Keeper's nightmares."

Her careful mask is shattered as she peers at him in shock, "Why in the world would you say that? What have I done that's so nightmarish?"

He lifts a hand to gesture to her, "Would you like me to list the reasons?"

She snorts incredulously, surprise still strong on her visage, "If you like."

He begins to pace slowly, ticking the reasons off on his fingers as he strolls, still smiling, "You have not one, but two rare forms of magic in your arsenal, one of which would no doubt greatly disturb any modern elf. You bear the _vallaslin_ of a reviled deity, one you chose to associate yourself with. Even your very name is meant to honor him, in your unique way. You have a strength of will, unlike anything I have seen outside of the Fade. You have entirely too open a mind for any Dalish clan to be fully tolerant of, even one who regularly trades with outsiders. You stalked Cullen with the skill of the very beast whose form you had assumed. And last, but not least, you handled a direct confrontation with such flawless lies that even I almost believed you, despite knowing the truth."

He stops in front of her, looming over her slightly, eyes alight with curiosity as he regards her, "What manner of creature _are_ you?"

She has to be careful here. It would be all too easy to tip her hand right now, to slip up and say too much. She creases her brow in mild confusion, an affectation, but a necessary one. "What is it _you_ think I am, exactly?"

She waits as he continues to dissect her with his eyes for what is sure to be only a few seconds, but feels like years. She can't flinch. Her veneer of innocent confusion has to be made of iron to withstand his scrutiny. The tension between them is tight enough to snap if even a fleck of dust lands on it.

"I confess, I do not know," the admission seems to physically pain him, a faint grimace fracturing his careful mask of scrutiny, "and it perplexes me greatly."

He tears away from her suddenly, returning to his pacing with quickened strides, interrupted only by the occasional sidelong glance, aimed in her vicinity. She realizes he is muttering to himself, the ancient elvish translating fluidly thanks to the voices from the well when she catches snippets of it that he speaks too loudly. He sees her as a puzzle. One he must unravel ...could ruin all his careful planning. He dissolves into petty cursing in his frustration. She decides to end his quiet tirade.

" _Atisha hamin_ , Solas; I did not mean to cause you distress with my question. If I knew what it would cause, I would not have asked. _Ma ir abelas_. I am an elf, that is all. An elf with unusual preferences, perhaps, but still only an elf. I cannot be the only elf among the clans to have my preferences or talents, I am sure. Aside from the mark, I suppose." She holds her marked hand up, then lets it fall back to her side in a shrug.

Her words have some effect, though she is unsure how much. His pacing slows and the muttering ceases, at least. After a few moments, he turns and stops, shoulders slumping with a sigh that deflates him. He looks at her, sullenly, hooded eyes guarded. He nods.

"You are right, of course. _Ma abelas_ , Fen'da'len. My frustration is not of your creation. There is simply something..." he trails off, eyes casting down and away.

It is dangerous to ask, but it would seem odder if she didn't, "Something...?"

He turns his regard to her once more, almost reluctantly. "There is something beyond the mark that is unique to you. I cannot pinpoint it, but that is hardly your fault. I am afraid I have turned out to be poor company for you. I apologize."

She shakes her head with a small smile, "Not at all, Solas," she reaches out and takes his hand gently, folding it between both of hers, "Despite your worry, I have enjoyed this. It was a very welcome distraction from reality. It has been very long indeed since I have had the chance to be a wolf. To share that with someone who didn't immediately run screaming from it was more comforting than you realize."

She watches, fascinated, as she sees him swallow, the guarded look of his eyes falling to give way to a profound sorrow. He turns to her fully, smiling sadly and folding his free hand over hers as he comments.

"I understand better than you might imagine."

She smiles, and it feels easier to smile now, in his presence, than it should. The gaping hole of agony that has been her constant companion for the past month and a half -ever since he'd torn her heart out in that beautiful grotto- is reduced to a low ache. For now. She holds onto the feeling; she knows it is fleeting, and fickle. But for now, she almost feels whole again. It makes her bold.

"Can I..." she chuckles half-heartedly at her foolishness and looks down, blushing. She should not ask after such small, silly things.

"Please, continue." The tone of his voice is sincere, at least.

"Can I ask why you laughed and looked away before I smelled Cullen coming? I know it's silly to ask, I'm mostly wondering because I'm afraid I made a fool of myself." She knows she is likely red from her neck to her ear tips, but she is still curious. She feels the hand he'd clasped over their other hands lift away, only to feel the pressure of his finger under her chin, gently guiding her to look at him. Once she complies, he returns his hand to grasping hers.

"If anyone was a fool, it was I. Your wolf... it was beautiful. I was jealous, if I am to be perfectly honest. In the Fade, I can be anything I choose. Here, I have only this form. To see you wield such a rare gift... I should not have been so selfish as to think only of myself. I find I must apologize to you again. It is not often I have to do this so frequently. If you wish, I would be happy to indulge your shifting powers for a small while. I can believe it when you say you do not get the chance very often, and I would not begrudge you this opportunity simply because of my petty jealousy."

She cannot help the smile that pulls at her lips and spreads across her face. "I would love that, though I'm afraid it would leave you bereft of a conversation partner."

He gives a kind smile and shakes his head gently, "Not at all. You expressed yourself quite well as a wolf. I found I was bereft of nothing, aside from the ability to shift myself."

His smile is infectious. A blush tints her cheeks softly, "Then I won't keep you waiting any longer."

She chuckles, a sound that turns into a snuffling huff as she transforms, taking her paws out of his hands gently and planting them on his chest. She noses his hands as he laughs, light and clear as it finds her ears. He reaches out, sweeping his hand across her head and curling behind her ear to scratch softly. She leans into the pressure, her eyelids drooping in pleasure, making a contented grunt as her eyes close completely. He returns to stroking her head and neck, seeming to know exactly what would feel comforting to her. As if he was recalling it from memory. Her thoughts are intruded by his voice, her eyes opening to see his looking at her with wistful sadness.

"You take to it as naturally as if you were born to it, little wolf. The young woman you met as a child may have taught you the ancient art, but you have turned it into more than magic. It is part of you, no more apart from you than your green eyes or your indomitable will. It is a pleasure to watch."

She watches him as he smiles sadly, letting his hand drift over the side of her face, still stroking her fur gently. She feels sorrow for him, a tether tugging at her heart. She moves her paws to his shoulder, leaning forward to rest her head on her paws, the closest she can get to comforting him in her current form. He gives a surprised chuckle, moving his arms to return the gesture and embrace her.

"I thank you for your comfort, little wolf. Unexpected though it may be, it is not unwelcome."

The temptation to stay there, wrapped in his arms, even in this form is strong. She'd never shown him this form before, keeping it secret. Never told him the story of how she got it, or how she was the one to look after his statue. She is in uncharted territory here, but she has the advantage of knowing him, at least. When she feels his embrace slacken slightly, she pulls back, setting her paws down to the ground. She circles him once, looking up to him as she moves to his front again. He is watching her carefully, a guarded smile tugging at his lips.

"Would you like me to sit again?"

She looks away, deeper into the forest, nodding her head in that direction as she looks back at him.

"Follow you, then?"

She doesn't respond, simply padding toward the trees, leaving it up to him. When she hears his steps follow, she snuffles a laugh quietly. He never could resist his curiosity, whether in regard to her, or anything else they'd encountered. It was one of the qualities she enjoyed most about him, even when it almost always lead to trouble. Especially because of that.

"Where are you leading me, little wolf? Your laugh is not reassuring."

She stops. She turns back to him, regarding him in her own curiosity. He'd realized she was laughing, even in this form? How interesting. She wonders if he is lying about being able to shift, or simply exceptionally observant. She returns to him, nosing his hand to urge him on. She moves on, treading toward the small clearing she knows is ahead from when she'd discovered it the last time she'd been here. She doesn't laugh when he follows, reluctantly.

The forest thickens before they reach their destination, proving more of a challenge for him than her. But they emerge in the clearing soon enough, the sun warming the grass and their fur and skin alike. She moves to a small patch of blue flowers the color of his eyes, curling herself around the patch and laying comfortably in the warmth. She turns to see his eyes wide with wonder, drinking in the sight of such a warm place in the middle of so much snow and ice.

"How is this possible? It is as if..." he drifts off, letting his magic drip from his fingertips to reach out and sense the truth for him.

She smiles and stands, shaking the wolf form off, turning to look at him understandingly. "It is a phenomenon I don't encounter often, but the veil is very thin here. It would not appear to any without magic as it does to us. Where we see and feel a warm spring clearing, others would see what they expect- a cold, snowy space in the middle of the forest." Another thing she hadn't shown him before. But what good would doing exactly the same thing as before do anyone? Aside from stopping their enemy, naturally. That would still happen, regardless.

He tilts his head, eyes studying her. "How did you find this? You've hardly had time to breathe, let alone explore the forest at random."

She chuckles, "Been spying on me, have you?"

He seems surprised at her question, "Spying? Hardly. Watching, yes. But that is not so unusual. Everyone watches you. They listen to the words you say, keep a check on the decisions you make, watch you rise to meet the challenge you have been given at every turn. You are important, intrinsic to the success of our goal."

"I see. And is this why _you_ study me so keenly?"

He hesitates only a moment, but she sees it. And his guard is up when he answers, "Partly."

She raises a brow, "Partly?"

"Yes."

A wicked smirk graces her face, "You realize that is not an answer, yes? Your secrecy wounds me."

Oh, how true those words are.

His guard softens, his expression long-suffering, but sympathetic. "I do not mean to wound you, little wolf. Nor do I mean to betray the trust you have shown me today; a trust I am shocked at, all things considered. It is indeed partly due to what you have shown me, that I am unsure of my reasons now. You have surprised me greatly. It is rare that I find myself this unsure of anything, let alone a person."

She considers his words, pausing and bowing to the patch of flowers to pick one. She turns and walks to him, deftly tucking the flower's stem into one of the empty lace holes on his over shirt. She smirks as he looks down at the flower in his shirt with a slightly baffled expression.

"They bring out the color of your eyes beautifully. Consider it a gift for your honesty. When you are sure of your reasons, tell me. Until then, enjoy the day."

With that, she turns and transforms, darting out of the clearing in a burst of speed that is somewhat fueled by the blushing embarrassment beneath her furred cheeks. When she is concealed enough to be sure he can't see her, but still close enough to watch him, she turns and observes.

She watches his eyes lower from the place he'd last seen her to the flower, plucking it from his shirt and twirling it softly by its stem. A small smile evolves into a chuckle, and he shakes his head. Then a pained sorrow eclipses his joy, making him sigh shakily. He looks at the flower as if it's a precious gift he's been given, but doesn't deserve. He gently places it in the palm of his hand, sinking to the ground and crossing his legs, the flower cradled in his hands over his lap.

He lowers his head and she can feel the edges of the magic when it begins to spread from him, stepping quietly to avoid it, lest he find her there. It recedes slowly, forming around the edges of the clearing. Suddenly, she notices small green plants sprouting all across the clearing, uncurling and pointing themselves at the warm sun as petals unfold. The petals turn from green to the same color as the flower he holds.

The entire floor of the clearing is changed from just a simple place of peace, to a masterful artwork of nature. It is breathtaking in its beauty and simplicity. She feels his magic recede once more, slowly slipping back into him as if it had never left to begin with. He raises his head, looking at what he's created with a small smile. The peaceful look on his face is as striking as his surroundings; one she has never seen before. Even when she'd caught him sleeping, where he should logically be at his most peaceful, she'd had the urge to smooth out the crease between his brow with her fingers. It isn't needed here.

She wonders at him never having shown her this form of his magic before. What else had he been hiding, aside from the obvious deception that he'd fooled everyone with? She has so many questions; questions she dare not ask yet. She's not sure when they should be asked, but they will have to be before the year is out. She only has to bide her time for now, and keep the truth hidden.

She waits.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> By the by, if any of you are interested, here's my info:  
> Skype: shannaleia  
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> 
> I'm on Skype 24/7, unless I'm asleep, or not at home.
> 
> Want my book? Get it here: [The Enemy In Me](http://www.amazon.com/dp/B00QZ5AI1K)
> 
> Thanks for reading! If you enjoy the story, or this chapter in particular, please feel free to leave a review with your thoughts! I love reading comments, and reply to all of them. <3


	5. Chapter 5

She is so tired of waiting.

 

She’s already been to speak with the Chantry, watched the demon parading around as Lord Seeker Lucius, observing the mockery the demon so easily made of the Chantry and the Templar’s duties. As much as she knew it would happen, it still grated her to witness the spectacle; to see Cassandra so crushed and confused by it all.

She’s done all she can in the Hinterlands. Master Dennet now takes care of the powerful equines housed in the makeshift stables next to the blacksmith. She’s already taken Bull on their first dragon hunt, successfully felling the great beast, to the utter joy of her large Qunari companion. The only dampener on his spirits was the massive damage that had been done to her lower leg by one of the high dragon’s smaller kin. He’d ended up carrying her from the field of battle, the sleeve of Solas’ undershirt wrapped tightly around the worst of the damage.

Fortunately, they’d established a camp not far from the dragon’s lair, so she hadn’t had to put up with being carried for very long. Bull certainly hadn’t seemed to mind carrying her, despite - or perhaps partly because of - the blood from her wound covering part of his arm by the time he’d set her down on a cot inside her tent.

Solas ushers the surprisingly gentle brute out of the tent, replacing him and setting out some cleaner and more appropriate medicinal supplies on the small side table beside her cot. She sits up, reaching for the supplies, only to have her hand gently smacked away.

“No. Lie back, I will tend to it. You are only going to make it bleed more than necessary by attempting it on your own.”

She scoffs, “I’ll have you know, I’ve dressed far worse than this on myself before, without any help.”

He narrows his eyes at her, “Perhaps you have, but I am here now. There is no need to worry yourself.”

She rolls her eyes, but concedes his point. If he wants to bother himself with it, she won’t object. Much.

She waves her hand toward her mangled leg, laying down as she’d been instructed. “Fine, if you must insist. Have a field day with it.”

He shakes his head, “If you had not insisted on me taking the last potion for a far more minor injury, this all could have been avoided. As it is, a potion will not suffice, though it will help. Here.”

He hands her a freshly mixed healing potion, uncorking it as he does so. She gratefully tips it back, feeling its effects lessen the constant pain in her leg. The sensation of ripped muscles knitting back together is not entirely unpleasant, if strangely itchy; a feeling she’s more than used to by now.

“Your injury was not minor, Solas. I wouldn’t have wasted such a limited resource on a scratch. Surely you know that by now.”

He sighs as he dresses a strip of bandage with an elfroot salve, shaking his head. “It still was not worth being carried back to camp over, was it?”

She raises a brow, propping herself up on an elbow to look at him properly, “It most certainly was! You could barely see through the blood flowing from that gouge over your eye. I wasn’t about to let you walk back to camp, tripping over all the rocks and roots you couldn’t see. Not to mention the possibility of a concussion that you most likely had. I will not stand to see my companions in worse shape than I am. It isn’t right.”

He glares at her, “You most likely will not stand at all, if you do not lay back and let me tend to this,” he gestures to her leg. His expression softens as he continues, “While your dedication to your companions is commendable, it will benefit us just as much to see our leader in good health. What you did was reckless.”

She gives a sharp laugh, “Ha! Reckless? Like putting a barrier over me just as you saw that drake’s claws bearing down on your head? Yes, I was so very reckless. Shame on me.”

He growls. Actually growls. She almost laughs, but just then, he begins to unwrap the hasty bandaging around her leg. Her laugh is bit back in a hiss of pain as the soft fabric of Solas’ blood-soaked sleeve snags on bits of her tattered skin.

As his ruined sleeve lifts away, he carefully drifts his hands over the area, calling his healing magic forward in a soft green glow, slowly knitting the skin together and stopping the ooze of blood that had been encouraged by the sudden removal of pressure. He finishes and brings the salved strip of bandage up, laying it gently along the worst of the fresh, reddened skin. He retrieves a roll of bandages, carefully wrapping the area with the practiced movements of one who has done so too many times to count. He tears the end with his teeth, tucking it gently in beneath the rest as well as any healer.

“There, done. You should rest for a day or two, but there will be no scarring now.” He busies himself with picking up the supplies he’s used, tucking them into a small pouch.

She sighs. She can’t help but feel slightly guilty now. “Solas?”

He looks up, “Yes?”

“Thank you. And... _ma ir abelas_. I shouldn’t have chided you for trying to protect me. I just wish you would look after yourself as well as you look after me.”

He chuckles, “I do, little wolf. You need not worry yourself over me.”

“Doesn’t mean I won’t.”

He pauses, looking at her with a small smile. “I know. Rest, little wolf. I will bring food in a while and sit with you, but in the meantime, rest.”

She smiles and nods, settling back into her cot with a sigh. As much as she knows she should stop herself, she is falling for him all over again. He might not know that she knows what she does, but she can see the signs in him as well. He’s been showing them, almost despite his better judgment.

She’d been a fool before, to think he hadn’t known what was happening, long before it happened. The signs had been there, for both of them; but they’d both been too blind to notice. Everyone else certainly had, and teased them both about it long before either of them had acted on their feelings.

This time, her own actions were more subtle in public. He seemed to sense that, and responded in kind, keeping his small, quiet affections more hidden from the rest. In private, she saw them occur with growing frequency, despite both of them keeping a professional distance in front of the others.

She wonders how long it will last. She wonders how long she will last, before telling him what she knows.

 

* * * * *

 

The Fallow Mire is as much of a nightmare as it had been before.

The Storm Coast is as much of a mess as she remembers.

Then comes the nightmare with Alexius’ time magic at Redcliffe, just to toss a giant pile of wolf shit on top of it all. At least Dorian was finally by her side, though he didn’t know her well enough to call her ‘friend’ just yet. They’d only met in passing before this, after all. Sloshing through the castle’s red lyrium-addled dungeons once more, she realized that the only thing holding her together was Dorian’s steady presence at her side. After they’d defeated the two pitiful venatori guards right after appearing in this hellish potential future, she paused, a thought occurring to her.

She could tell him. They’re already experiencing time travel as it is, what’s another time travel surprise? Why not? She looks at him, questioning her own motives as she ponders the possibilities. It’s not like he could run anywhere. He needs her to help him get through this, just as she needs him. She knows what they’re about to go through.

They’ve just finished going through figuring out what happened when she stops him from moving off with a hand on his shoulder. “Dorian. I have a confession.”

“Oh my, that doesn’t sound ominous at all. Should I be running? Are you going to tell me you planned this all along?”

She laughs, “Hardly. None of this was a part of some grand plan, other than Alexius’, I suppose. My confession isn’t about our current circumstances, but more about what is going to happen from this moment forth.”

He raises an aristocratic brow in curiosity, “Is that so? Making plans, are we? Well perhaps we should escape this rather dismal location before you do that, yes? I imagine those guards we just obliterated were meant to report in at some point.”

She sighs, “I doubt it. As much as I wish I could delay this, I can’t. I realize you barely know me, and this all might come as a shock, but I have to tell you now, before we’re overheard by anyone this will affect. I wish there was another way, I do.”

“Well alright then deary, do tell me, if it’s that important.” He crosses his arms, starting to lean against the wall, then seems to think better of it, giving the wall a disgusted look and shuddering.

She finds one of the chairs that isn’t completely mired in filth and drags it near him, seating herself with a sigh.

He chuckles, “Oh my, is this going to require seating arrangements? I am intrigued now. Do tell.”

She grimaces, “Sorry, I’ve just been holding this in for a few months now, it’s more tiring than I’d thought it would be,” she takes a breath, steeling herself. It’s now or never.

“I have seen all of this before.”

She watches as both of his eyebrows shoot up in surprise, “Before? As in, you know what’s going to happen?”

She nods, “Yes. Everything that happens for the next year. This future that we’re seeing now, we avert it. You and I go back in time, and everything is fixed. The bad guys are defeated, we all win.”

His grin lights up the murky room considerably, “Well that is wonderful news! Why do you look so utterly depressed, my dear? That is fantastic!”

“Because there’s a lot of things that can happen in a year, and there’s secrets that I know about some of my companions that... complicate things considerably.”

His smile turns into a thoughtful frown, “Hmm. I suppose that could darken your perspective a bit. Are these secrets so terrible that they make your inevitable victory a bad thing?”

“Well, yes and no. The victory is good, regardless, but there are things that need to be addressed during that year which...” she sighs, “I really don’t know how to handle. One in particular will be a problem, after the victory.”

He is silent for a few moments, and she can sense the wheels turning in his head as he considers her words. “How is it that you were thrown into the past? Does it have to do with Alexius’ magic?”

“That I don’t know. I went to sleep one night almost a month after our victory, then suddenly I woke to find it all starting over again. I’ve been playing along as well as I could, to hide what I knew, but it is straining.”

He squats next to her, looking at her with sympathy. “I can only imagine how difficult that must be. I don’t imagine many could deal with that and still have any sanity left. You must have incredible strength of will to withstand it.”

She gives a choked laugh, “So Solas keeps telling me.”

“Does he know, then?”

Her eyes widen, “Gods, I hope not. He is the one I’m worried the most about finding out before I’ve figured out how to tell him myself that I know.”

“Ahh, a lover then?”

“What? No! I mean, yes sort of, in the future, but... it’s complicated,” she sighs in defeat, “He is more than he appears. To everyone else, - and indeed to me, before I found out - he appears to be an elvhen apostate who willingly surrendered his staff to help us discover how to close the Breach. And for all intents and purposes, that is all he ever is, until he disappears just after the victory.”

“What is he really, then? Obviously it has you worried.”

She hesitates. While she knows that the Dorian she is close friends with in the future would be able to keep a lid on what he’s asking her, his loyalty is not yet assured. “I... Dorian, what I’ve told you, and everything I’m about to tell you, it cannot be spoken of within earshot of anyone else. Not a single slip-up, no mistakes. It could unduly affect the future if any of this was known by anyone else before they were ready. It could completely ruin our victory, leaving Thedas to the fate we’re currently seeing. You understand this, right?”

He nods slowly, looking her in the eyes as he replies, “You have my word, dear woman. I will not breathe a word of this to anyone. You’ve shown an incredible amount of trust in me, despite barely knowing me. I will not betray it.”

She gives him a sad smile, “That’s the thing, Dorian. I do know you. Quite well, in fact. It’s the reason I trust you so readily.”

He gives a small chuckle, “Then I must have acquitted myself incredibly well in the future. Good for me. Not surprising, mind you, but still good to hear.”

She laughs, “You did indeed. You’re one of the most talented necromancers I’ve ever had the pleasure of meeting, and you were a steadfast friend through everything. I hope to repeat the experience.”

“My goodness what a shining account! I shall certainly try to live up to your expectations, and have no doubt I shall succeed. But do tell me, what is it about this elf that has you so worried? As much as I love talking about me, we’ve sadly gotten off track. Do continue.”

“This is going to sound insane,” she closes her eyes, leaning forward and rubbing her eyelids with the heels of her hands, “But then I guess the rest of this isn’t any less crazy, so I suppose I’ll come right out and say it.”

She sits up and looks at him seriously, “Solas is Fen’Harel.”

The burst of laughter that ushers from him is almost enough to knock him flat on his back, but he braces himself against the wall just in time. She rolls her eyes and waits for him to calm down with a raised eyebrow.

He finally catches sight of her chiding expression and manages to calm himself enough that he only occasionally snorts his laughter as he asks, “You’re serious? The bald, rag wearing elf that follows you around like a docile puppy is the elvhen wolf-god of betrayal? You must be joking, surely.”

She sighs, “I only wish I were. Believe me, when I found out, it was about as easy for me to swallow as you seem to find it. Though my reaction was hardly comical.”

At this, he seems drained of all humor. “You mean to tell me you’re actually serious? Truly?”

She nods, “Truly. His disguise is a good one, and his deceit is perfected over centuries of practice. Don’t play Wicked Grace with him, trust me.”

His gaze shifted down and away, eyes wide, “Maker’s balls. And you say he was your lover in this past... I don’t even know what to call it. Life?”

“That’s as good a title for it as any, I suppose. As for us being lovers, as I said: it’s complicated.”

“Well I suppose it would be, bedding a god and all that.”

She give an exasperated gasp, “Oh, for the love of... I didn’t bed a god! We kissed, three times! I loved him. I thought he loved me too. Then he broke it off before the final fight and disappeared once the battle was done. That’s all.”

He looked at her in shock, “Now I know you must be joking. Surely he couldn’t be so heartless? That is despicable!”

She nods, unable to do anything but agree, “Now you understand how I feel. I wasn’t able to even look at him, let alone speak to him for two weeks after I came back. When I finally did, it was like none of it had ever happened. Well, for me, at least. Obviously it hasn’t for him.”

A look of slight dread comes over his face, “Oh no. My dear girl, don’t tell me you’ve fallen for him again? Kaffas, I know he’s a god, but surely you couldn’t let your heart be dashed against the rocks of that tragedy again?”

She raises her chin, “I haven’t had to fall, Dorian. I never stopped loving him, even if I might hate him at the same time for what he did. I understand it a bit better now. I know what he is, I know what he wants. I can come at the situation with eyes open, instead of being blinded completely by the love I feel for him. This time, I am not ignorant of what he is. I’m watching him carefully. The only thing I’ve yet to figure out is where in that year I should confront him with what I know.”

“Should he be confronted at all? If he’s a god, there’s no telling what he’ll do, what power he could have. I don’t know that I would suggest tipping your hand here.”

She shakes her head, “I’m not worried about what power he might have. He’s weakened right now without his foci. What tricks he does have up his sleeve are minor compared to what he once had. From what I’ve observed in my spying on him so far, he’s only slightly more powerful than a gifted mage in his current state.”

She pauses, sighing, “That won’t always be the case, though. After he disappeared, I sought him out in the Fade. I witnessed him taking the power of what is left of another old elvhen goddess, Mythal. I think he meant to use it to supplement his powers, since he lost his foci in the end battle.”

“What is this foci you speak of? I’d heard of such things, but never had the opportunity to see one for myself.”

“It’s what he gave to Corypheus in his foolishness, thinking Corypheus would do what he was too weak to do, after centuries of Uthenera had weakened him too much to reactivate his own foci. Instead, Corypheus used it to create the Breach, tossing the world into the ruin we are about to be witness to. Until we stop him, at least.”

He raises an eyebrow, “Corypheus? Is that the name of this ‘elder one’ Alexius spoke of? And he has the foci of an old god? No wonder he’s so powerful.”

She nods, “Indeed. He’s an ancient Tevinter Magister that entered the Fade physically. He claims that he’s been to the Black City and seen the throne of the Maker, empty. He came back a blighted creature. He thinks himself a god, but he is no more of a god than you or I. He simply has a stolen foci that gives him the appearance of this power. He is a usurper, a fake with an uncontrollable power that he doesn’t understand. It will be his doom, in the end.”

“Or ours, if we don’t fix this.”

She shakes her head, “No, we will fix this. Obey your instincts, Dorian. The spell you use on Alexius’ amulet to get us out of here is the right one. The others buy us the time to make it out. It... won’t be easy to watch, but we can’t help them. They are right when they say they are already dead. When we get back, we’ll fix all of this. It’ll take time, but we’ll fix it.”

He looks her in the eyes and nods, “I believe you. And I’ll keep your secret. Our success hinges on you, it seems; I would not do anything to undermine something so important. I thank you for your trust.”

She smiles, “You kept me steady through all of it, Dorian. You might not know me very well yet, but you will. My trust is well placed, of that I am sure.”

He chuckles, “Your confidence in me is inspiring. Now then, unless there’re other ground-shaking things to confess, I believe the rest can wait until we get out of here, yes?”

She stands, offering Dorian a hand up from his crouching position, “Yes. There are other things, and I will need your council on a great many of them as time moves on. But for now, we need to find our companions and make it out of here. I’m glad you’re at my side, Altus Dorian of house Pavus.”

He gives a sharp laugh, “Ha! Well if we’re using titles now, I’m glad to have earned your trust so spectacularly, oh Herald of Andraste.”

She grimaces, “Just Fen’da’len is fine.”

“Fendalin? What in Andraste’s tits kind of name is that?”

She snickers, “It means wolf cub. Ironic, don’t you think?”

"Wait,” he stops her moving to the dungeon door with a hand on her arm, “So you mean to tell me that your name means wolf cub, and you’ve swapped spit and exchanged love poems with the wolf god himself? Was this name picked before or after this unfortunate love affair?”

“Long before. I’ll tell you the story after we get out of here.”

He releases her arm with a surprised chuckle, “I shall listen with rapt attention, I assure you.”

She shakes her head as she unlocks the door, “I have no doubt.”

After they find Cassandra, they quickly move to where she knows Solas is being held. She nearly breaks as she again sees how badly the red lyrium has ravaged his body. The wonder in his red eyes as he first lays eyes on her cracks a chink in her armored heart.

Then a thought occurs to her. She seizes on the moment, knowing this will be the only chance to see how he will react to her knowing.

She turns to Dorian, “Can you two go get Leliana? I need to speak to Solas for a moment. We’ll be right behind you.”

Cassandra hesitates, but nods, heading toward the door. Dorian raises an eyebrow, looking between Solas and Lavellan with a look that seems to ask, ‘are you sure about this?’ She nods. He sighs and turns to follow Cassandra, closing the door behind them.

She turns to Solas, sliding the key into the lock on his cell door and turning it, pulling the door open. She grips the door for support as she gathers the courage to speak.

She can’t look at him when she speaks. “Solas.”

“Yes?”

“I know who you are. I know what you’ve done. I tell you this now because I am too afraid to tell the god that stands in Alexius’ throne room a year before now. Because I am too afraid that he will run, that he will flee, and that I will lose him forever. Before he has the chance to regret it as thoroughly as he does when he finally does leave, after all our battles are won. Before he steals the power of a goddess that does not deserve his deceit. Before he breaks my heart and leaves me an empty void.”

Silence. She manages to look at him - barely - to find his face a mask of utter shock.

He somewhat composes himself, “H-how?”

She answers quietly, “Because I’ve been here before, rescued you once already. I don’t know if it was Alexius’ time magic that triggered it, or how it happened. But I was thrown back a year in time, with all the memories that I had gained. Including the voices from the Well of Sorrow in Mythal’s temple. They were the ones that told me, once I bothered to ask. All too late to find you once you’d disappeared, of course. Too late to find out that the orb Corypheus possesses is your foci. That the very reason the sky was torn in the first place, was because of your foolish mistake. That the elf I first kissed in the Fade, the very one I came to love with every fiber of my being, was Fen’Harel.”

The wall he’s leaned against during her confession is now his support as he slides to the floor, landing in a defeated heap of despair. His eyes are cast aside, chin trembling in distress. She joins him on the floor, sitting cross-legged in front of him. He stubbornly refuses to meet her gaze.

“Then my failure is complete. What will you do with me?”

She cocks her head to the side, surprise lighting her features. “Do with you? I will do what I have always done. I will stand at your side and help you in every way you will let me.”

He gives a pained, mournful laugh, “Help me? I am a dead man. The lyrium is eating me from the inside out. There is no help for me.”

She shakes her head, “I know. I was not referring to you in this reality, though I will do what I can to get Dorian and I back to our reality to fix all of this. We will succeed. I meant I will help... Solas. I know the future, I know how to prevent your foci from being destroyed. That would keep you from having to take Mythal’s power, yes?”

He slowly nods his head, “Yes. But you cannot help me beyond that. Where I... where I had originally intended to go, what I had intended to do, you cannot follow me.”

“You plan to release the old gods from where you locked them away?”

His eye widen, “How do you know? Did I confess this to you?”

She shakes her head, “No. I took your identity, your words, and actions, and followed them to their natural conclusion. They will kill you for your original deception. That is why you say I cannot follow.”

He gives a grim nod, “Yes. Of that, I have no doubt.”

She gives a frustrated huff, “Then why release them? Obviously, they deserved to be locked away, so why release them now? Is Thedas in such a state that it can’t survive without the interference of gods that have no idea what it’s become?”

“Yes, it is. This world is not the world it was meant to be. I was a fool when I bound the pantheon; young and brash and foolish. I made the wrong choice. You cannot possibly understand, little wolf.”

Surprise, then anger bloomed on her face as his once term of endearment stabbed a knife of condescension into her heart.

“Don’t call me that. And don’t presume to think you know what is right for Thedas. Just because you’re Fen’Harel doesn’t mean you know everything, especially after being in Uthenera for as long as you were. You wake up after a two thousand year nap and think you can accurately gage the state of the world, better than those who have lived and breathed it? Call me an impudent mortal if you will for saying that, but I will call you an idiot god if that is what you believe.”

She sees the anger flash across his face as she speaks, but as she finishes, it slowly twists into something akin to peace. Then amusement. She barely feels the edges of his magic tasting her, licking at her own magic, testing it.

He chuckles, “I have never given you enough credit, Fen’da’len. You surprise me, yet again. Before you leave this blighted reality, I will give you something. A message, of sorts, to give myself in your reality. And a gift for yourself. You will need it, if you truly do wish to accompany me after all this is done.”

She knits her eyebrows together in confusion, “I... alright? I’m not sure what you mean.”

He stands, offering her his hand. His magic envelops her, pressing in and mingling with her own for a moment, then recedes completely. She takes his proffered hand and hoists herself to her feet as he speaks.

“You will see, little wolf. There is power yet, in this old elf’s bones. I would not see it snuffed without passing part of it on to my vessel.”

She raises a brow, “Vessel?” she blinks, “Me? Is that why you were testing me?”

He smirks, then walks around her, opening the door and waving her on. “After you, little wolf.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> By the by, if any of you are interested, here's my info:  
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> I'm on Skype 24/7, unless I'm asleep, or not at home.
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> Thanks for reading! If you enjoy the story, or this chapter in particular, please feel free to leave a review with your thoughts! I love reading comments, and reply to all of them. <3


	6. Chapter 6

Alexius is defeated.

The roar of the not-archdemon shakes the rotting castle as Leliana, a ghost of her former self, nods to Cassandra in determination. They exit the door of the throne room resolutely, knowing they go to their deaths, but willing to do so to avoid the fate of the last year of their lives.

Solas stays behind.

She can sense the pull of the green and black time portal forming behind her as Dorian works tirelessly to open it, but her eyes are on Solas' back as he turns to the door, staff out and ready. Even with the red lyrium tainting his aura like a plague of evil, he is still beautiful.

As the demons and venatori burst in through the door, she focuses her own power on Solas, giving him an edge as he takes down one minion after another, magic swirling around him in a dance of death.

Finally, the portal is ready. She and Solas both are out of mana. He turns to her and runs, grasping her hand. A blast of light surges from him to her through their connection, stunning her as she sees him give a wicked smile that freezes in place as the light leaves him, his body turning to stone before her eyes.

Seconds later, the stone is shattered by a red lyrium club, attached to a horror of a red templar. His twisted visage sneers at her with wide, manic eyes. She shields her eyes from the shards of what was once Solas, just as Dorian grabs hold of her robe and pulls her through the portal.

The air is sucked from her lungs as she feels the displacement of time, far more keenly than she had before. She wonders at the sensation, as another feeling intrudes on her thoughts. It is foreign, yet strangely familiar. As though she knows the source to be a part of her, something she's been missing her entire life. It quietly clicks into place, as if it's been there all along, waiting to be unlocked. She looks at the void around her, seeing it with new eyes. She watches as time rewrites itself, sending her back, watching the passing of events as she vaults back through time.

Just as she reaches the point where she should exit into Alexius' throne room, everything stops.

His voice reaches out through the void, caressing her mind soothingly, speaking the ancient tongue of her people.

"Peace, little wolf. What you are feeling is what you should have had, what our people should never have lost to begin with. I have seen your mind and now understand this future you spoke of. If you are to stay by my side as you so desperately wish, you will need the gift I have given you. It is the missing piece of your heritage that was tossed like chaff to the wind so long ago by the carelessness of a fool. I cannot restore Elvhenan, but I leave you with a piece of it."

She feels a presence slide along her body, a sensation of power she could never have imagined before this moment.

His disembodied voice continues, "When you see me in a moment, I will sense that something is different about you, but I may not understand it at first. I've given you my essence, to keep safe for me. Find a quiet, private place, and take my hand. I will do the rest. Do not let it linger for too long. My vessel you may be, but my power can and will destroy you if it is kept to yourself for longer than necessary. Use your long life wisely, my heart."

She is pulled through the last few steps out of the portal, her lungs sucking in air greedily. Dorian comes out just behind her. Alexius falls to his knees, his head hanging low in sorrow. He knows he's lost. She sees a tear tremble on the end of his chin and fall to the floor, something she'd missed the first time this scene played out before her.

She almost reaches for him, but holds herself back. "I'm sorry, Alexius. I will not let you throw Thedas into ruin for the sake of your son. The price is too great."

He barely lifts his head enough to look at her, "Are you a parent, Herald?"

She shakes her head.

"Then you can't possibly understand. No price is too great for the life of a child. Please, let us be done with this. You've won. I... surrender."

She nods as he turns to his son, his voice breaking as he says his name. One of her soldiers places a hand on Alexius' shoulder and he stands, taking a breath and walking between them, a beaten, broken man.

A silence falls across the hall. She expects Dorian to say what he had before, but events have shifted. She looks to see him gazing sadly at Felix as he watches his father marched out of the castle. Silence reigns supreme until the sounds of steel boots hitting flagstone with an orderly beat demand the attention of everyone gathered.

Queen Anora enters the room, demanding the retreat of the rebel mages. Grand Enchanter Fiona tries to reason with her, but the Queen will hear none of it. Lavellan steps in, offering a solution: an alliance between the Inquisition and the rebel mages. Finding no other palatable choices, Fiona accepts. The Queen graciously agrees that this is the best offer they will receive, and removes herself and her retinue from the area, leaving as quickly as they'd arrived.

In the whirlwind of activity, Lavellan has barely managed to take a breath. She ushers Fiona out of Redcliffe Castle, leaving instructions to gather her charges and proceed to Haven as soon as they are able. With the mages successfully recruited, she mounts up with her party and begins the trek back to Haven.

Dorian rides beside her for the first leg of the trip, discussing her plans for Alexius and the mages. She tells him she plans to let Alexius live, to research magic for the benefit of the Inquisition and Thedas as a whole. He approves of the decision, though he is still saddened that Alexius has fallen so far from the man he once knew.

They reach an Inquisition camp that's almost at the halfway point of their journey just as the sun sets, and the group settles down to a campfire and rations. She tends to the horses herself, stalling the inevitable confrontation from Solas. She knows it must happen, but she would rather wait until they reach Haven. Something in her feels this is the right decision.

She feels magic reaching out to her, and looks over to see his eyes on her. She pushes back with her own magic, a silent indicator that she knows he's reaching out, but isn't ready to rejoin the group yet. She sees his lips form a hard line of annoyance, but feels his magic retreat for now.

An hour later, she finishes the last horse, sighing and wiping the sweat from her brow as she slips off toward the nearby river. After the day she's had, she needs to scrub herself clean. Between the filthy red lyrium future, riding for half the day, and tending the horses, she's not sure if she'll ever feel clean again. Not to mention now holding the essence of a god. She's completely unsure how to feel about that one.

Nudity has never been an issue for her; growing up Dalish meant sharing baths and close quarters where there was no room for prudish desires for privacy. She begins to strip her armor off at the river's edge, laying out the few pieces on a boulder near the water and shrugging the robe off to lay it over a low-hanging branch. She peels her underclothes off, spying a good flat rock to scrub them on in the river. Dropping her underthings on the rock, she dips herself into the water and feels around to find a smooth stone to scrub herself with.

She finds a good one, sinking up to her neck into the water and letting her skin soak while she enjoys the view of the stars winking at her through the leaves on the trees above her. She sighs and rests her scrubbing stone on her underclothes, reaching back to start picking her tightly wound braided bun apart. Her fingers deftly pry the tendrils holding it all together loose, combing through the length of the main braid to unravel her tresses, letting them fall gently down her back. She groans softly as her fingernails scrape against her scalp, gently releasing the tension of the day.

She dips her head back, letting her hair soak as she props her feet against the washing stone to keep the river from carrying her prone, floating form downstream. The current tugs at her hair and limbs, gently massaging her body, reminding her of every time she's done this while with her clan. Though, there was usually more splashing and jostling of the water, thanks to her clan mates moving around her. But she found she didn't mind the peace that this stillness provided her, the moment of reprieve from the world, from her responsibilities, from all thoughts of any kind. She almost felt as if...

She blinks her eyes open, surprise shocking her out of her reverie. She had almost felt as if she could enter the Fade, while still awake. One foot in both worlds... Uthenera.

She sits up, steadying herself against the washing rock with one hand, the other clutched to her chest as her heart pounds at the realization. She could enter Uthenera. Her mind races at the implications of her realization. This was how Solas controlled his exploration of the Fade so expertly. How he perfectly crafted the scenes from memory like a master. How he could demand that she wake up without being forced out of the dream state himself.

Her eyes dart guiltily in the direction of the camp, suddenly wishing she didn't have to go back at all, wishing that she could stay and experiment with this newfound gift. She certainly wouldn't be able to sleep now, despite her exhaustion. This discovery changes everything. She takes a deep breath, letting it go slowly in a bid to calm her racing heartbeat. She would have to finish bathing and washing her underthings; but after, she would gather her things and return to camp, eat, and go to her tent as quickly as she could without attracting attention.

She's never been so excited by the prospect of a cot in a private tent in her life.

She pauses, remembering that _he_ is at the camp. _Fenedhis_. She sighs, some of her excitement fleeing from her. She will have to avoid him somehow if she means to get to her tent at all tonight.

She rushes through washing herself and her underthings, getting it done right, but quickly. She wrings out the fabric and hangs it to dry on the same branch her robe is laying across. She'll retrieve her underthings in the morning. She slips her robe on and collects her armor, carrying it as she heads toward camp. She feels two flavors of magic fanning out from camp, searching for her. Dorian and Solas both, apparently. She rolls her eyes and gently pushes back on both of their auras, letting them know she is here and coming in.

She feels both fields recede quickly, her ears just starting to pick up conversation at the campfire as she gets closer.

"...she is. Wonder what took her so long?" Dorian.

"I don't know, but she could have let us know she was running off, at least." Cassandra.

"Well, she did come back, that's something." Dorian again.

Cassandra's answering grunt is about as noncommittal as it ever is, but that seems to end the discussion. Lavellan steps past the horses and into camp quietly, laying her armor against her tent. She turns to the fire to see everyone looking at her with varying expressions of annoyance.

"What?" she asks incredulously.

Cassandra pipes up, aggravation clear on her face, "What?! You left camp without letting anyone know where you went, or that you'd gone at all, that's what. I nearly sent out a search party."

Lavellan sighs, smacking her palm to her forehead. "I went to bathe, Cassandra. It's not the first time I've done that, nor will it be the last. Unless I'm gone for more than an hour, please don't send a search party. You'll only embarrass them when they find me naked and scrubbing myself down."

The blush on Cassandra's cheeks shone all the rosier for the light of the campfire, "I- oh. Well... still, you should let someone know."

She smirks, "I'll try to remember to do so."

"Well, good." Cassandra wrings her hands awkwardly for a moment, then leans down and grabs a ration, holding it out for Lavellan. "Here. Eat up."

She hides her amusement as well as she can, moving to grab the ration and seat herself, nodding her thanks.

Cassandra nods, then excuses herself and says goodnight as she heads to her tent, leaving the three mages sitting around the campfire.

Dorian snorts, "Well, that was interesting. Are things always this exciting, or are you just putting on a show for the new person?"

"I assure you, this is no show. Though, I will admit that the Herald disappearing is a new trick." Solas eyes her with a raised eyebrow just as she is about to take the first bite of her ration.

She freezes, looking up like an urchin caught stealing a sweetmeat. She lowers the ration, rolling her eyes, "I already explained my absence. Is this really going to keep haunting me? Because if it is, I'll just take my ration to my tent and let it haunt me in the Fade instead."

She purses her lips, eyebrow raised expectantly as she looks between the other two mages, waiting.

Dorian shrugs and stands, "If anyone is going to be haunting you tonight, it won't be me. I am off to bed dearies. Sleep well!"

She nods, giving him a small smile, "You too, Dorian."

He returns the smile, then heads to his tent, slipping in and tying the flap tightly behind him.

She's about to take a bite again when Solas speaks up, "Sneaking off was entirely unnecessary. You caused panic while you were away."

She nearly throws her untouched ration into the fire. Summoning her vaunted strength of will, she holds onto it. Instead, she glares daggers at him as she maintains eye contact and deliberately takes a bite, chewing slowly and swallowing before she answers.

"The panic was what is unnecessary. I was literally forty paces beyond the horses, in the river. If anyone had bothered to use logic, they could have used their eyes to see the robe and armor laid out by the river, not to mention probably getting an eye full of my naked ass. If either you or Dorian had bothered to reach out five more paces than you had, you would've found me. Perhaps I should have loudly announced to the entire camp that my tits would be on display-"

"That is quite enough," his voice sharply interrupts her, "There is no need to be so crass about our caring for your safety. We were simply worried. If that offends you, perhaps you need to reevaluate your priorities."

She can't keep the shock off of her face. Shock which darkens into anger quickly, flushing her face red as her fist tightens around the ration and crushes it. She tosses it in the fire after all as she stands, insulted to her very core that he would suggest her priorities be anything other than working for the good of all Thedas, that her motives be any less pure than helping to set things right. Maybe she had been wrong not to let anyone know she was going to wash up, but that was no excuse.

Her lips curl, baring her teeth as she growls, turning and summoning her wolf form as she dashes off into the forest. She needs to get away, to calm down before she does something insanely stupid. The skin beneath her fur feels like lava, as if her rage is fueled by something other than herself, overwhelming her other senses. She snorts, hearing the voices from the Well protest her actions, warning her to turn back. She shakes her head stubbornly, charging on until she catches a scent of something small and edible.

She slows her pace, coming to a stop and listening. Whatever it is, it's close. She sniffs, scenting the air, and the scent is strong and sweet, luring her gently toward it. The voices of the Well quiet and calm themselves as she closes in on her prey, seeming to approve the halt of her senseless escape.

She can almost feel the prey now, she hears its little heart pumping blood through its tiny body, hears a croaking little groan from it. It's right in front of her. She lunges, jaws clamping around its neck and bearing down, snapping it cleanly. She begins to strip the skin away from the nug's body, lapping at the oozing warmth of the blood and digging her teeth into its flesh, stripping it off the delicate bones cleanly. The kill has soothed her rage, but she's hungrier than she realized, and she digs into the carcass with renewed fervor, picking it clean in short order.

She huffs a sigh and heads for the river, knowing she needs to clean the blood off before she heads back to camp. It's not the first time she's hunted like this, nor will it be the last. This time feels different, though; that much she can't deny. The rage that overwhelmed her at the beginning was new, something that came - she suspected - as a result of having the wolf god's spirit in her. It is the only thing that could explain such a change in her base personality.

She reaches the river and pads in, dipping her head in and shaking it a few times, letting the water take the sticky evidence of her ferocity downstream. She backs out and shakes herself free of the water and her wolf form. She shrugs out of the top of her robe, letting it fall to the tie at her waist as she splashes water against her face and neck, making sure there's nothing left to betray her activities. She rinses her mouth out, feeling her teeth with her tongue to test for anything stuck between them, then spits as she's satisfied, only to take another mouthful of water to drink.

She sighs a moan at her satisfaction of a full belly and cleanliness, slicking water droplets off of her skin with her hands and slipping the top of her robe back on as she stands. Feeling much better, she turns and heads toward camp. She knows she'll need to apologize to Solas; he didn't deserve the fury she'd displayed. He was right, she should have let someone know she was going off to bathe. She shakes her head at how easily she'd lost her temper. The way she'd taken his words was so far out of proportion to how he'd meant them. She knows this now.

She steps into his view, a penitent look on her face. He is having none of it.

"Yet again you show a lack of priority and propriety. What did you see in that future today that changed you so, little wolf? I hardly recognize you. Even your magic, your very aura is... off somehow. It is as if you are a different person entirely."

She sighs and sits across the campfire from him. She doesn't want to answer. She apologizes instead.

"I'm sorry for... well, growling. And running off like that. You didn't deserve that. I know why I did it, but it was still a gross overreaction."

He seems confused for a moment, "I... that is not what I thought you would say. I forgive you. But I must ask: if you know why you did it, would you tell me? It is confounding me greatly."

She grimaces, "I will, but not now. I need time to think. I'll tell you once we're back at Haven. It's... complicated."

He looks disappointed at first, but reins it in. He looks down at the fire as he speaks, "Very well. You should get some rest anyway. I have first watch. Good night, Fen'da'len."

She sighs, looking at him sadly. She wants to tell him, but the possibility of Cassandra or one of the guards hearing or seeing prevents her. She reaches her magic out to him, letting it pool near enough to him for him to sense it without touching him. His gaze flicks up to meet hers, a question on his face as he fans his magic out to meet hers, testing, sensing. She flares hers up and out, covering him, using the power of the added soul to strengthen the intensity of the cloak she lays across his shoulders.

His eyes widen as he feels it, his magic spreading beneath it to pulse against it, testing again, tasting it. Suddenly, his magic drops completely, his face displaying the shock of recognition clearly. She reins her magic in accordingly, keeping eye contact.

"Now do you understand?"

He swallows thickly, nodding. "What happened? How?"

She shakes her head, "At Haven. I'll tell you everything there," she pauses, gaging his expression, "You aren't going to run, are you?"

He looks perplexed, almost insulted, "Run? Why would I run? You have promised me answers. I believe you. I have no reason to run."

She feels no deception, but she consults the piece of him in her head for confirmation. She receives it. He will not run.

"Alright. I'm heading in. Goodnight, Solas."

"Goodnight, little wolf."

She moves to her tent, prying the flap open and tying it closed behind her snugly. She strips her robe off and threads it over the middle beam, under the leather roof of her tent. She settles into the cot, shaking the furs at the foot and dragging them up over her, resting her head on the stiff pillow and snugging the furs under her chin. As she finally settles, her exhaustion sweeps over her, telling her that attempting Uthenera is out of the question. The hunt has apparently done her in. She sighs, letting the Fade claim her as she slips into sleep gently.

Her eyes open to see... nothing she expects. Instead of the usual shapeless void that always greets her when she first steps foot in the Fade every night, she sees a fully formed scene sprawling out before her. And it is like nothing she's ever seen before. A glittering city in the sky spreads out for miles, twisted crystal spires entwine with the branches of trees that are so wide and tall that they could only have been grown by magic. Huge platforms of glass and wood alike hold various fixtures; some are markets, some are meeting places or small parks, some are places of worship.

She looks down to see a spiral staircase lifting up out of the clouds, wrapping around the tree she is next to, leading the way down to the ground with tasteful prominence. She turns to realize that she is standing on a platform with a small, but beautiful shrine to Fen'Harel himself. It's then that she realizes she's not alone.

A lone elf is standing, looking at the shrine, his back to her. He is in fine white garments lined with gold threading, a gold embroidered black cloak trailing down his back, topped with white fur at his shoulders. His long brown hair is shaved close at the sides and pulled back with a leather thong into a fairly tidy tail that falls elegantly down his neck to pool and mingle with the fur on his shoulders. Her gaze trails down to his bare feet, and her downward trek continues to her own clothing, a beautiful robe tailored to match his outfit perfectly.

Her eyes lift to rest on his back once more, blinking rapidly as she recalls Solas' description of Arlathan. Her breath leaves her in a dizzying whoosh, her mind trying to catch up to what her eyes have seen, trying to comprehend.

Then, she feels it. Magic is everywhere. It tickles her skin, makes the very air she drags into her lungs sparkle with energy, fills her and moves through her as if she were not even there, effortlessly. It suffuses and infuses her, filling her and leaving her empty all at once. It is magnificent.

An elated laugh is pulled from her, almost without her permission, such is her joy at her discovery. At the sound, he turns, a smile on his face. Her eyes drink him in slowly. It is Solas, but not. It is what he should be, what he was always meant to be, though she'd never known it. He is Fen'Harel, the rebel god, in his full power. And he is glorious.

"Hello, little wolf."

She very nearly gasps. Even the sound of his voice is different here; it's melodic, the dulcet tones cascading into her ears like the soft rolling of ocean waves before the crashing crescendo against the shore.

"Hello, Fen'Harel." She smiles, and his smile grows into a grin, bright and beautiful as it touches his eyes, making them shine.

He reaches out to her, offering his hand. She takes it, letting him pull her into his arms as they enfold her, stroking her back sweetly.

He presses her back gently, gesturing to their surroundings as she turns to look, "I am sad to say that you cannot stay long, but I wanted to show you Arlathan as it was in its prime. I am afraid I could not do it justice when I described it to you, but I can give you this memory, at least."

He waves his hand outward and the clouds below them clear with the motion, providing a view of the city beneath them. It sparkles in the sun, pinpoints of light sticking out as it is captured by crystal and fractured into rainbows of color, highlighting one thing and the next, a joyous dance of glimmering light.

Suddenly, they are on the ground, Fen'Harel's hand at her lower back gently guiding her over the white stone ground, bazaars and monuments and shrines catching her eye at every turn. Nothing she could've imagined would ever have come close to this. She looks up, the sheer height of the trees forming a sparse roof for the city making her unsteady on her feet. She is absolutely certain that if he didn't have his hand on her back, she would fall flat on her ass, and be perfectly happy to sit there, staring for eternity.

He seems to sense her thoughts and chuckles lightly, "Believe me, little wolf, I understand your wonder. I was much like you, the first time I saw it. It is still beautiful, even now. Come, I want to show you something."

She blinks, and finds herself in a vast chamber of mixed stones, the colors blending and bleeding into each other seamlessly to create portraits of wolves in various scenes. Many are battles, others tell a story, still others depict worshipers bringing offerings to the wolves. Great wooden doors that are heavy and thick enough to be city gates lead to other areas in the temple, but this room is the beating heart of this monument to Fen'Harel. Her gaze drifts to the center of the back wall, the murals becoming more and more grand and elaborate, until the culmination in a depiction of Fen'Harel himself in his wolf form, six blue eyes looking forward and watching over the throne below it.

As she moves closer, she realizes that it is not just a stone mural, but a statue, looming enormously over the throne. It towers over her, mouth open, its tongue curling up over its lip as if licking its chops while looking hungrily at a juicy meal. It is meant to frighten and intimidate, but she feels neither emotion. Instead, she feels... kinship. Belonging.

She finds her arm is outstretched toward the hungry visage, as if she could touch it despite its height. She blushes and retracts her arm, looking back to see if Fen'Harel had noticed her folly. He has, but he is smiling fondly, rather than mockingly.

He comes to stand next to her, looking down at her openly, "Would you like to see it?"

"It?"

He gestures to the statue, "The real one."

Her eyes widen in excitement, "Yes!" she blushes as her outburst, "Please, if that's alright."

He chuckles, nodding. He reaches up and unhooks the clasp on his cloak, letting it fall carelessly to the floor. He steps to the side, giving himself room, then begins to cast. His eyes glow blue against black as a dark smoke pours from them, drifting down to encircle his arms, waist, legs; covering him thickly as he falls forward in a motion that is all too familiar to her, landing on very large black paws. He shakes himself, the smoke dissipating quickly, and he looks at her with all six eyes, regarding her steadily.

Her eyes drift over him slowly, taking in every detail of the unique shape of his head, watching as he sits, perhaps to make himself less threatening? There is no need. She does not feel threatened. She feels... elation, curiosity, fascination, a desire to touch his fur overwhelms the rest.

She reaches out slowly, palm up, looking at him for permission. Just as he had for her. He moves closer, nudging under her hand as she had for him. She gives him a lopsided smile as she strokes up his nose, between his eyes, then letting her hand fall away, as he had.

He is having none of it. He walks right up to her, face to face as tall as he is, and licks a giant swath from her chin to her forehead.

She'd closed her eyes tightly on reflex at the wet assault, but now that it was over, she carefully lets one eye open, looking at him with her face still scrunched up. If a wolf can grin, he is doing it. And panting happily while he's at it.

Fen'Harel, in wolf form, is grinning like a happy fool.

She can't help but grin in response. She brings her hands up and strokes the sides of his face, watching as he closes his eyes in enjoyment. His fur is far softer than it looks, feeling as soft as fennec fur, though it looks course and rough. While he has his eyes closed, she reaches back and scratches behind his ears, then as he starts to dip his head and groan in enjoyment, she plants a chaste kiss on his nose.

He sits up straight and his eyes open, all six of them focusing in on her intensely. He blinks, shaking his upper body as if trying to shake off a chill, then leans forward and licks her cheek.

She raises a coy eyebrow, regarding him curiously. He leans forward and licks her other cheek.

She holds his head in her hands, gently leaning his head down so she can plant another chaste kiss on the bridge of his nose, following with a short trail of kisses up to his brow.

Before she can plant the last one just above his first set of eyes, he backs up, giving a groaning huff as if the loss of contact pains him. He shakes himself free of his wolf form and grasps her waist, crashing his lips to hers hungrily as his hands pull her flush against him, one trailing up her back and one down to her ass, his tongue seeking entrance into her mouth and finding it as she gasps at his hand cupping and squeezing her ass greedily.

Her hands reach out to tangle in his hair, sliding the leather thong off and carding her fingers through his thick tresses as her tongue tangles with his, giving a broken moan as her heart soars at the sudden turn of events. His magic envelops her, a warming presence full of emotion and need. She gently pushes back, caressing his magic with hers, imitating the feeling of his tongue on hers, his lips on hers. She pours in her own emotions, her own need, and feels his rise in response.

Suddenly, his magic is gone, no longer pressing against hers. She lets hers dissipate as well, her confusion evident on her face as he ends the kiss. They are both breathing heavily, and she sees his eyes - darkened with lust - drifting over her form hungrily for a moment before he closes them tightly. He opens them as his breath slows, letting out a frustrated huff as he leans in and graces her forehead with a chaste kiss.

"As much as I wish to take you, here and now, I cannot. You must go now, my heart. I love you. Remember that when I am difficult. No matter what, remember that."

His smile is full of warmth, though his eyes betray his sadness before he leans down to brush his lips along the shell of her ear, his voice barely a whisper when he speaks.

"Wake up."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> By the by, if any of you are interested, here's my info:  
> Skype: shannaleia  
> Tumblr: [Actually-Fen-Harel](http://actually-fen-harel.tumblr.com/)  
> Twitter: [Actually_Fen_Harel](https://twitter.com/Spyke1985)  
> DeviantArt: [ActuallyFenHarel](http://actuallyfenharel.deviantart.com/)
> 
> I'm on Skype 24/7, unless I'm asleep, or not at home.
> 
> Want my book? Get it here: [The Enemy In Me](http://www.amazon.com/dp/B00QZ5AI1K)
> 
> Thanks for reading! If you enjoy the story, or this chapter in particular, please feel free to leave a review with your thoughts! I love reading comments, and reply to all of them. <3


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Get ready for feels. <3

She wakes with a start, her heart thrumming against her ribs painfully as she almost chokes on her first waking breath. The sudden lack of magic in the air, the return of her normal senses, her transition to her physical body, all of it is jarring.

Her realization of the depth of what the world had lost creates an angry, devouring hole in the pit of her gut. The pain of it easily outstrips the pain she had once felt at the loss of her _vhenan_. She sits up quickly, hands grasping for purchase on the edge of her cot, using it as an anchor against the storm of the loss she is feeling. It is beyond anything she could have imagined; too painful for even tears to soothe. She clutches her chest, face twisted in agony, limbs shaking uncontrollably as it sinks into her very soul, a permanent reminder of what was lost.

The voices from the Well seem to waken now, rising up inside her to soothe with words of consolation; words that will not fill the gaping hole, but do smooth out the edges somewhat. Her heart begins to slow its staccato beat, her breaths become more even. She slides her legs over the side of the cot, shifting her grip to the single rail as she takes several calming breaths.

She's just begun to reconcile her feelings, when she senses a familiar influx of magic reaching out to her. The same magic that had only moments ago enveloped her in passion and love, within the visions of Fen'Harel's memory of Arlathan.

She takes a deep breath, letting it rattle out of her as she tries to bring her trembling under control. She gently reaches out and brushes her magic against his, though her emotional state makes the brush more of a lash, unintentionally.

She growls in frustration with herself, trying again and managing to grasp a tendril of his quickly retreating magic to hold it gently, letting hers rub against his more calmly in apology. A hesitant, softer reply of affirmation trails a subtle line along her magic, before retreating naturally.

She sighs and lets her magic dissipate, propping her elbows on her knees and letting her head sink into her hands. Her shaking is almost under control, but she doesn't feel emotionally capable of leaving her tent right now.

These thoughts flee as she hears the light padding of bare feet on dirt coming to rest just outside her tent, watching as the mouth of the tent jiggles with the motion of someone untying the flap. The light from the fire pours in around his silhouette as he pulls the flap open, poking his head in cautiously.

"Are you alright, little wolf? I felt a massive disturbance of magic from you, just before I heard you wake."

She nods, unable to trust that her voice won't betray her. She returns her hands to the side rail of her cot to hide any tremors.

She can barely make out his face for the light behind him, but what she can see looks vaguely puzzled.

"Are you sure? Do you need anything?" his voice is concerned, but cautious, almost suspicious.

She shakes her head, "No, thank you."

She nearly sighs with relief that her voice is steadier than her hands would be if they weren't clenched to her cot rail.

He pauses, seeming to deliberate his next actions. The silence drags on for several seconds before he breaks it.

"It is time for second watch, if you are up to it. I can wake one of the others, if you prefer."

She shakes her head again, "No, I'm awake. I'll be out in a moment."

He sighs and nods, accepting her answer. "Very well. There is a ration on the bench and coffee next to it."

He gives what looks to be a small smile before he ducks back out, letting the tent flap slap shut gently behind him, leaving it untied. She lets out a breath she hadn't realized she'd been holding. She takes a few deep breaths, letting them out slowly and forcing her muscles to relax, trying to calm her heartbeat. It works, somewhat. She notes that the shaking has lessened, as she lifts her hands away from the cot to hover in front of her. There's only a slight tremble now, one that will go away soon.

A chill runs down her spine, waking her up to the fact that it's gotten colder since she went to sleep. She'll need the warmth of her robe when she goes outside. An errant thought slips through her mind that Solas had seen her bare shoulders and some of her back, though the furs still clinging to her chest had covered the rest. She snorts at the petty thought; it isn't the first time he's seen more than that, most likely. Laughing at her ridiculousness does help ease the tension she is feeling though, so perhaps it isn't such a bad thought after all.

She sighs and lets the furs fall from her form as she reaches for her robe, standing as much as she can and slipping it on, tying the sash tightly around her waist. She smooths herself down, running her fingers through her hair and chiding herself for forgetting to braid it before she slept.

She slips out of her tent, grabbing her staff and hurrying over to the spot where Solas has laid out the ration and still steaming cup of coffee on the log bench. She rests her staff beside her and picks up the coffee, taking a tentative sip. It is hot, nearly burning her lips and tongue, but she doesn't care. She holds the cup in her hands, letting it keep them warm as her eyes look up to see him watching her with a curious, but guarded expression. There are questions dying to bubble past his lips, that much she can tell without having to ask the version of him she carries in her head.

She would smirk and ask him why he is staring at her normally, but it's all too obvious to try playing innocent now.

"Why wait until Haven? We are completely alone right now; Dorian and Cassandra are fast asleep, as are the guard I relieved and the requisition officer. If you wished for privacy, we have it now."

She sighs, looking down at her coffee as if she could find an answer within its black, pooling depths that would dissuade him from insisting on haste.

"It's not just privacy. Remember the place I took you, the clearing?"

He nods, "Of course."

"Once we get to Haven, give me two hours and meet me there. That will give me time to deal with some of the fallout from this mission and talk to everybody. It'll take at least that before they'll let me slip away anyway."

His eyebrows crease together, consternation marring his face. "I do not see the point in waiting that long. Explain your reasoning to me."

She gives an annoyed sigh that deflates her, "Solas, just please save it until Haven. I need time to prepare and you'll need time after to adjust. Just drop it for now, please."

For a few seconds, she's afraid he'll fight her on it. She sees the moment he gives in.

"Very well, though I do not see why it is so imperative to delay a simple explanation. However, if it will keep you from running off to hunt alone again, I will wait."

Her eyebrows fly up in surprise, "I wouldn't... __, Solas, I already apologized for that. I meant it. Besides, if you were so worried that I was hunting alone, you could have joined me."

Shit. It had slipped out before she could stop it. She tries to keep the fact that she'd just shown her hand so blatantly off of her face. She manages it. Mostly.

His look of surprise shifts to denial, then slowly to scrutiny as he stares at her. "What do you mean by that? I could not hunt as you hunted, I cannot take on a form beside my own. I would only have slowed you down."

' _He's trying to play it off?'_ she wonders, _'Or fish for information,'_ her mind helpfully supplies. _'Why, at this point? He has to know what's going on, he recognized his magic last night.'_

She gives a simple, logical answer to throw him off for now.

"Surely you've hunted for food before? Living on your own for so long wouldn't have been possible without knowing how to hunt." She moves her coffee to the bench beside her and grabs the ration, unfolding the wrapping and taking a bite as she looks at him expectantly.

"Of course, but as I said, I only would have slowed you down if I had joined you. And you seemed rather keen on getting away from me at the time, so my intrusion would have been unwelcome, no doubt."

She swallows the food in her mouth and sighs, regret clouding her features. "Solas, I'm sorry. I know I was an ass last night. You didn't deserve that, though you were being a bit pushy. But I understand why."

He tilts his head to the side, concerned. "I was simply worried for your safety. If I came off as pushy, I am sorry. But it was not without good reason."

She nods, "I know. I'll get over it. In the meantime though, you should get some sleep. You know Cass will wake you when the sun rises."

He hums his agreement, "Yes, you have a point," he stands slowly and turns, calling over his shoulder as he heads to his tent, "goodnight, Fen'da'len."

"Goodnight, Solas," she replies softly.

She finishes off the ration, tossing her now lukewarm coffee down her throat to wash the ration down, sighing as she settles in to do very little but keep guard for the next two hours. The thought of trying Uthenera occurs to her, but she sweeps it away. She has to remain alert, and she's not entirely sure if being in Uthenera would allow for that, even if she was fully awake. She decides it's best to leave that for after they get to Skyhold. There, she'll have time to delve into it properly.

She busies her mind with making plans for troop movements and going through the events at Haven from the last time. She'd managed to save most of the people she had any opportunity to save the last time, but there was one that had been left behind. She wants to make sure she doesn't make the same mistake this time. If she has the chance to do everything again, she should do it better. And she will.

She looks up, using the stars to gage how much time had passed while she'd been planning. An hour, approximately. She huffs a sigh and snugs her robe closed a bit tighter, flexing her fingers and sending a small spark of fire to the campfire to encourage a bit more warmth.

Her eyes drift to Dorian's tent, pondering how her revealing the truth to him would effect the future. Of all her companions, beside Solas himself, Dorian is the most likely to have the sense to let events play out as they may. She doesn't worry for his silence; she knows he would never be ignorant enough to spill her secret to anyone. Even drunk, Dorian is a formidable player of the Game.

She only worries that sharing her stress with him might alter his mental state enough to cause him distress. He has enough to deal with, without adding her issue to the pile. But he seems to be accepting it without trouble for now. She hopes that remains the case. As long as he stays steady, there's no cause to-

Oh, shit.

Cole.

" _Fenedhis_ ," she curses quietly, as dread courses through her. Cole's complete lack of a filter could ruin everything. While in some cases, he has the most uncanny sense of discretion, it is usually the most undermining things that he blurts out for everyone around him to hear. She would need to take the first opportunity she could to speak to him on the way to Skyhold, or at the very least once they arrived, before he had a chance to speak to anyone else there. She'd completely forgotten about him. Ironic, to say the least.

She would give almost anything for some means to block him out, some way to prevent him from hearing her every thought. Despite the anchor and the Well, he had always been able to feel her pain, especially if she was trying to hide it.

That stuffs it then. She will have to tell him everything. Once he knows, he'll have nothing to blurt out from her head except the things that come up randomly, just like last time.

She snorts. So much for keeping her knowledge a secret as long as possible. Dorian already knows, soon Sol... Fen'Harel will know, and she'll have to bring Cole in on the situation not long after.

Chuckling, she leans back on the log bench and gazes up at the stars, shaking her head at the ludicrousness of the whole thing. She hears Fen'Harel chuckling right along with her somewhere in the recesses of her mind, though the voices from the Well maintain their stoic silence. For now.

A muffled thump shakes her from her reverie, the sound issuing out of Dorian's tent. She drags herself to her feet, slowly plodding toward the mage's impromptu quarters, untying the flap and poking her head in to see him wrestling himself free of his furs, on the ground next to his cot.

She chuckles, "Having issues?"

"AH!" his wide eyes are a twin to his open mouth as he looks at her in shock, " _Kaffas_ , you could've at least said something before you just showed up! Are you trying to frighten me to death?"

She can't help but grin, "Sorry Dorian, I heard a thump and thought you might need help. Need a hand up?"

He waves her offering away, "No, but thank you. I'm not used to this whole roughing it thing quite yet. Cots are rather more narrow than what I usually sleep in. But, not to worry, I will adjust."

She chuckles, "I'm not worrying Dorian." she lowers her voice and leans in a bit, "But I will need to talk to you once we get back to Haven. There's... some complications."

He nods, finally freeing himself from the furs in the process. "Understood."

"Anyway, since you're awake, it's third watch, which means you're up for the next two hours. Come on," she waves her hand torward her, holding the tent flaps open as he groans and makes his way out, snugging his slightly rumpled robe around him tighter.

She smirks, "You know, you don't have to wear your robe to bed. I never do. The cots are usually more comfortable without clothing."

He raises an eyebrow, "Good to know. Is there any coffee?"

She shakes her head, "No, but I can make some. Give me a few minutes and I'll have some ready. In the meantime," she grabs a ration from the supply cache and hands it to him, "eat up. This is breakfast for you unless Cassandra feels like cooking when you wake her."

"The Seeker cooks? I never would've guessed."

She snickers, "Never judge a book by it's cover, Dorian. You should know this better than anyone by now. We all cook, though Solas makes the best tea. Ironic, considering he hates tea."

Surprise flickers across his face, "How can anyone hate tea?"

She shrugs, "Got me. Though I suspect he doesn't add any honey. That could explain it."

He shakes his head, "What an odd elf."

She snorts, "Just slightly."

She sighs and sets off for the river to get some water for the coffee, grabbing a pot along the way. She spies her small clothes hanging on the branch where she left them and reaches for them as she approaches, testing their dryness. Still a little damp, but nothing that can't be taken care of with a flame-less fire spell. The same one she remembers being used on her after her flight from Haven by Solas. No, by Fen'Harel.

She sighs, wondering if she'll ever get used to that. If she were any other elf, any other person; if her personal favorite in the elvhen pantheon hadn't always been him... she never could have accepted it. Her clan had never understood her fascination, never joined her praise of the Dread Wolf, never reveled in caring for his image as she had.

Careful respect and suspicion was the best they could ever offer him. But not her, no; she had always been thrilled by the idea of his rebellious nature, always listened with rapt attention when Keeper Deshanna would tell the tales of Fen'Harel.

Her favorite was the story of his slow arrow, where a village had asked for his help against a monster that was terrorizing the people living there. He had laughed and shot a single arrow into the sky, then left. The following night, the monster attacked, killing everyone in the village except the children. As the feral beast turned its gaze on the defenseless young ones, an arrow fell from the sky and pierced through the monster's skull, killing it. Thus, the children of the village lived on, the village was saved.

It was meant to be a cautionary tale, one to indicate that the trickster god had deceived the villagers, despite saving their children.

Fen'da'len had always believed the story to have a deeper meaning, however. That the 'children' of the village were slaves, and the 'adults' their masters. That Fen'Harel had freed the slaves with his slow arrow.

She believes her version of the story to this very moment. As she dips to fill the pot with water, she feels the divine presence in her brush against her mind, a sense of delight coursing through her. _'Is this affirmation? Is my version of the story correct?'_ she wonders. A vision of a sly grin flashes before her eyes so quickly she nearly misses it. She takes it as confirmation, chuckling and shaking her head as she lifts the filled pot from the river.

She sets it aside and disrobes, sparking her heat spell along her hands as she picks up her underclothes, slipping them on and shrugging her robe back on over them quickly. She picks up the pot and shuffles back to camp with a smile. She works the warming spell through the water, heating it so it wouldn't have to spend long on the fire.

Dorian looks up as he notices her approach. "Oh thank the Maker, I thought I'd have to go looking for you."

She raises an eyebrow, "I wasn't gone that long, Dorian. I just went to the river to get water and grab my small clothes..." she trails off as she notices his eyes widen.

"Dorian, what's wrong?" she sets the pot down on the stand over the fire, sitting on the bench across from him.

He looks unsure as he responds, "Are you absolutely certain that you just got water and knickers at the river?"

She gives an incredulous look, "Yes, I'm sure. Why are you asking me such a strange question? What else could I have done at the river? Put on a song and dance routine for the future Fade walkers that might sleep there?"

"As amusing as that would be, no. But clearly something happened, my dear. Your eyes are glowing in a most disturbing fashion. I don't know how you're doing that, but I would greatly appreciate it if you'd stop."

She blinks, once, twice. "What?! Glowing? Are you- you're shitting me, right?"

He shakes his head, "I'm afraid not," he fishes around distractedly in his robe and produces a small, flat, round object, "look for yourself."

She takes it and opens the small clasp to reveal a mirror - because of _course_ , Dorian would carry a mirror on him, of all things - and looks to see the same eyes staring back at her that she'd seen on Fen'Harel in his temple, just before he'd shifted into his wolf form. A startled gasp escapes her lips as she nearly drops the mirror at the sight.

She looks back up at Dorian with shock on her face, "I have... no idea how to make it stop. He warned me I shouldn't keep it long, oh gods, how am I going to hide this?"

"Who warned you? And keep what? Care to fill the confused mage in, my dear?"

She closes the mirror and hands it back to him, motioning for him to follow as she heads toward the river. Thankfully, he follows after only a moment's hesitation, his curiosity apparently outweighing his caution. When they are not quite to the river, she turns and holds her hand up for him to stop.

"When we were in the future, did you see what happened just before we came back through the portal?"

He huffs, "Not unless you mean everyone dying and me dragging you through the portal just in time to keep a monstrosity from clubbing you in the head. What does that have to do with your eyes glowing?"

She pins him with a look that could make even the most steady man falter, "Everything. Before you pulled me through, Fen'Harel transfered his... spirit, his essence to me. Apparently I'm his vessel or... something. I don't quite understand it all yet. But when you pulled me through, it was different than before. I could feel the time moving, and just before I was supposed to exit, time stopped. And he spoke to me."

He crosses his arms, motioning with one hand to continue, "Well, what did he say?"

"He told me that I shouldn't keep him for long, or it would cause trouble. He also said... well, he said he gave me a gift. And told me to enjoy my long life. I think he gave me the immortality of the ancient elvhen. I've felt different ever since then, and not just because of him in my head, it's something else. I think I can enter Uthenera. I've had this consistent feeling of being able to enter the Fade while awake. That might have been what happened while I was getting water, but I don't see how that made my eyes glow like him." She shrugs helplessly and buries her face in her hands as she plops down on a stump.

He gives a shocked half laugh, "Well aren't you a special flower? Does anything normal ever happen around you, or is it always this chaotic?"

She snorts, lowering her hands to look at him, "I wish something normal would happen. You would not believe what I saw in the Fade while I slept."

"Oh, I don't know, I'd believe just about anything at this point."

She chuckles, "I saw Arlathan. And Fen'Harel's temple. And Fen'Harel in his wolf form, which he freely offered to show me. And magic was everywhere, it was everything, the air I breathed, the ground beneath my feet, the light pouring through crystal branches twining through the trees... it was indescribable. This world lost far more than a beautiful city. It lost almost all of the magic, Dorian. The world we know now wasn't separate from the Fade. It was all one place. It was pure and beautiful and _right_."

She is on the edge of tears by the time she stops, unable to continue. She shakes her head and gives a sigh that hitches in her throat.

"It sounds beautiful. And frightening. And awe-inspiring. I can only imagine how you managed to recover from waking out of that much majesty. It must've been horrible. I'm sorry I wasn't there to help."

She gives him a sad smile, "Thank you. But it wouldn't have mattered. It would've been difficult no matter who was there to assist. Knowing what we lost, that is my burden, and his. I think his goal is to tear down the veil. Having seen what I have, I'm not sure whether I should stand in his way or help him. This world isn't ready for that, but when would it ever be? Even if we managed to educate everyone - which we couldn't - this world would never truly be ready for such a drastic change. I don't know what to think."

"I don't either. I'll have to think on it. That's a lot to take in. But I do know your eyes have finally stopped glowing. And that if I'm supposed to be watching the camp, I should probably actually be at camp, don't you think?"

She takes a sharp breath, "Right! Yes, you should be. And I should be in bed. Oh, gods, the coffee!"

She hears him chuckle as she bounds up and speeds past him, dashing toward the campfire to finish making the coffee before the water completely evaporates. The crisis is averted, barely. Soon she moves over to Dorian, steaming cup of black liquid in hand.

"Here. Hope it's alright, I think I caught it in time. I should get to bed before I don't get any more sleep at all."

He takes it with a smile, "Thank you, darling," he looks up at the sky, gaging the time with a slight grimace, "Though it looks like I've only got a half hour or so before waking the Seeker. I may just skip the coffee for now, leave it for her."

Her gaze lifts to the sky, "Damn, you're right. Well, go on then, go back to bed. I can hold out for another half hour by myself."

"Are you certain? I can stay up, it's not a problem."

She smiles back down at him, "I'm sure, Dorian. Go, get your beauty rest."

He chuckles, "Well that does make it sound more tempting. Before I go, however, I want to give you something."

He reaches into his robe and pulls out the small mirror he'd let her use earlier, handing it to her.

She shakes her head, "But that's yours. I don't want to deprive you of it."

He places it in her hand and folds her fingers over it gently, "I have an identical one in my horse's pack, dear. I'll live, and you need this more than I do with that little problem of yours," he comments, tapping just beside his left eye socket.

She nods acceptingly, "Fair enough, and you're probably right. Thank you."

He sets the coffee down on the bench beside him, "I know I'm right. And you're welcome, anytime. Anyway, off to bed with me. Nighty-night."

She waves, "Night, Dorian."

~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~

The rest of the trip back to Haven is rather uneventful, thankfully enough. The sight of the town's gates is more than welcoming when she finally lays eyes on them, dismounting from her horse and handing the reins off to Master Dennet with a thankful nod. She strips her pack from behind the saddle and slings it over her shoulder as she trudges toward the gates. She'll need to put what she can from that pack in her robes before nightfall. Before Haven falls.

Thankfully, she has some time before then. They arrived fairly early, the sun hadn't even reached its peak yet. Plenty of time to speak to everyone, close the Breach, and await disaster. She drops the pack off just inside the door to her house and heads up to start her rounds with Leliana.

She's been considering what she could do to lessen casualties for weeks now, even made a few discrete orders to bolster the walls and construct the trebuchets slightly early, ordering they be manned at all times. It's something. Whether it will help or not is a matter for debate, but even if it doesn't, at least they are that much better prepared. Warning her advisors won't help them prepare, and may just affect their decision making. That is not what she, or the people in Haven need. Casualties are unavoidable. She's done everything she can to lessen them, but they're going to happen. The thought makes bile rise in her throat that she has to swallow back down.

She speaks to her advisors quickly, going over the plans for closing the Breach. She speaks to Fiona and tells her to select her very best mages for the task ahead. She speaks to Varric, telling him to go ahead with planning a little party in celebration. Let them enjoy themselves while they can. She speaks to Sera for a few minutes, though she doesn't have much to say. Next, she heads to Dorian. She doesn't see Fen'Harel in his usual spot outside his house, so she assumes he's inside it for once.

Dorian's not outside either. She knocks on his door and hears him reply, "Come on in, just unpacking!"

She opens the door and slides in, closing it behind her, speaking in hushed tones when she reaches his side, "Dorian, we need to be very quiet, or go somewhere else. He," she jerks her thumb over her shoulder, in the direction of Fen'Harel's house, "has very good hearing."

Understanding dawns on his face and he nods, ushering her out the door as he follows her. They stroll behind his house to the side of the Chantry, back in the corner before he places his finger over his lips to indicate silence, then begins casting a spell she doesn't recognize. It covers them like a barrier, except there's air between them which is surrounded by the barrier as well. She raises an eyebrow in question as he removes his finger from his lips.

"Privacy barrier. Talk quickly, I can only keep it going for so long."

She nods, "Alright, there's a complication. A young man named Cole will show up tonight, just outside the gate. He is a spirit who's taken the form of a human. Don't ask. He's a spirit of compassion, won't hurt us. Trust him. But he can read minds. Can read pain. His favorite past time is blurting out your most sensitive, deepest pain and trying to help you work it out. Or just saying something really embarrassing that's in your head at the time. Either way, he's a blabbermouth. And he's going to blow our cover. I need to somehow pull him aside-"

Dorian holds his hand up to stop her, "Out of mana."

He releases the spell, slumping against a wall as he rests. She sighs and hands him a lyrium potion. He raises an eyebrow, uncorking and tipping it at her in thanks, then downs it. He re-casts the spell quickly.

She pours her power into him so it isn't so short-lived this time, "I need to pull him aside and explain things to him and pray to all the gods he gets it, because otherwise he will ruin us all by sheer accident."

He seems to think on it a moment before he responds, "So he's a spirit of compassion, not a demon? He's not possessing the boy he appears to be?"

She shakes her head, "No, he is very driven to help people, he's got a heart of gold. He's just got no filter on that whole reading people's pain and blurting it out for everyone to hear thing. It's annoying sometimes, but he means well no matter what he does. He's just... misguided at times. Also, he can make anyone forget that he was ever there. Or forget certain memories if it's needed or asked for. It's a part of the way he helps."

"He sounds dangerous. Are you sure he's trustworthy?"

She nods, "Yes, if I can get him to realize what's going on in our heads before he blabs it to everyone, he's extremely trustworthy. If I can show him what he is to us in the future, maybe I can convince him. He is everyone's friend by the time this is all over, we'd almost all die to protect him."

He raises an eyebrow, "Almost all?"

She rolls her eyes, "Vivienne has an issue with him. She thinks he's a demon, and she never gets past that thought. Too fearful."

"Ah, yes. I can see how that might be problematic. Also, that's a nifty little trick you're doing with the mana channeling, where did you learn that?"

She smirks, "Old elvhen trick. Anyway, I have to go meet Fen'Harel. My time is up. Wish me luck."

He nods, his face serious, "Good luck, dear. I hope it goes well."

She sighs heavily, "You're not the only one. And thanks."

He nods with a small smile and dispels the magic quickly, heading to his house as she heads to the gates. She weaves her way through the throngs of Chantry folk, villagers and mages crowding Haven now, smiling and nodding to those who recognize her as she passes. When she is finally free of the gates, she smiles and waves to Cullen on her way out. He's become used to her taking frequent walks outside the village, so he doesn't question them anymore, but he does try to get her attention this time.

"Solas headed the same direction as your usual walk takes you not five minutes ago, Herald. I thought you should know you might run into him."

She smiles, "Thank you, Cullen. It's no bother. We probably won't even walk the same path."

He nods in return, "True enough. Have a good walk then."

She gives a small bow of her head in thanks, "Thank you."

He returns the bow, then sends his attention to a recruit that hasn't blocked well enough and is now freely bleeding from his nose. "Maker's breath recruit, go see a healer. Maybe that will teach you to block with your shield and not your face next time."

She hears his long-suffering sigh as she snickers and keeps an even pace into the woods. As soon as she is far enough in that she can't see out behind her, she transforms, calling her wolf as she falls forward into a dead run, charging the thick underbrush. She heads straight for the clearing, her nose picking up Fen'Harel's scent strongly along the way; leather and wolf fur, pine and earth with a hint of clean, cool rain.

She bursts into the clearing and feels his magic pooling there before she even sees him. His back is turned; he's seated in apparent meditation, though she knows he's aware of her presence. She shakes the wolf off and stands, drawing closer with gentle footsteps in the grass and flowers surrounding her feet. He's sitting in the center of the clearing, eyes closed as she steps around him, perfectly still and at peace.

She mimics his posture as she softly lowers herself with her legs crossed into a sitting position, deciding that she could do with some meditation as well, if that is what he intends to keep doing. She takes a breath in, filling her lungs with the gentle scent of the flowers and clean grass, then slowly lets it out. Her eyes flutter closed, letting calm serenity overtake her mind, blanking her thoughts and centering herself. Peace washes over her in waves, allowing her to relax for the first time in weeks. Gods, she needed this.

Images begin to flutter at the edges of her blank landscape, flickers here and there, nothing discernible, but worrisome nonetheless. This isn't normal. Usually she can maintain the blank void for hours, but something else is invading her thoughts. She knows it's not the well, it's never bothered her in this manner before. It could be the extra spirit she carries, but that doesn't feel quite right either. Curiosity overcoming her, she opens her eyes. Nothing has changed. Her eyebrow raises, then lowers in a frown. She's almost let her lids slide completely closed when she sees his flutter, on the verge of opening. She opens hers in anticipation, waiting patiently.

But it is not his eyes that open first.

"Do you usually automatically join a person in meditation, little wolf, or am I a special case?" The smirk on his lips tells her he's not angry, his eyes conveying his amusement as the lids over them slip open.

She pretends to ponder the question, "Well, it depends, really. Generally, when I've already declared a meeting place and find the person I've come to meet meditating, it's only polite to join them."

He tilts his head, the amused smirk sharpening fractionally, "That is prudent, I agree. However, I am not here for meditation, little wolf. I am here for the answers you promised."

She leans in, staring him down, "What is the question you seek an answer to? Do not lie, Pride."

His eyebrow raises at her using the interpretation of his chosen name, "I had not intended to, little wolf. But I admit, I am curious what you expect of me; what question it is you think I will ask."

She gives a small, mirthless laugh, "I expect you to lie, Pride. But, perhaps you will surprise me. It is high past time, if that be the case."

Anger steals across his features, though he tempers it, barely, "I have not lied to you, little wolf."

She laughs at him. She shouldn't, but she does. And gods, does it feel good. A warning nip from the divinity in her makes her calm herself, but she is still amused as she regains her focus on his eyes.

"You have lied in more ways than I can count, Pride. But I will forgive you. Because I must. Because I understand the deception, far better than you realize. Because I have never truly held ill will against you, even in your darkest moment and mine."

He sneers at her, "If you have come to speak in mocking riddles, I will have no part in it. You may riddle the trees, if you wish."

He moves to leave, but she grasps his arm. He tries to yank free, but finds he can't, consternation and confusion marring his face at his discovery.

"Release me!"

"No. You will sit. And you will listen."

~O~O~O~O~O~O~

The grip on his arm is far stronger than it should be. There is far more strength in that grasp than the small, taunting creature before him had ever had. Curiosity makes him relent. His interest is fully piqued now; he will not leave until he has the answers he seeks. He will listen, if that is what it takes. It isn't until he has fully returned to his previously seated position that she releases his arm, her features smoothing into an infuriating calm that he cannot replicate. But oh, he tries to.

"Very well, little wolf. Spin your tale, I will listen. But I warn you, if you spin a web of lies, you will choke on it."

He calls her little wolf half as a term of endearment, half as a slight now. It had only been endearment for weeks now, but she is taunting and insulting him now. The mere fact that he tolerates it at all is a sign of how dear she is to him.

"I spin no lies, Pride. That is your job. And do not try to deny that you have lied. I know the truth. I see through your deceptions into who and what you really are, and I will hear no more lies from your lips. If you wish that which would join you, either one, you will speak truth and let the lies release you from their grasp."

He growls. More cryptic nonsense. Or is it? He isn't sure. Surely she can't possibly know the real truth. His gaze traces the slave brands on her face and neck, the brands that bind her to him in her ignorance. In the ignorance of her entire people, the people he once tried to save. The people who now reject him and see him as betrayer.

He decides to test her. She knows nothing, surely. There is no harm in playing a game with her.

"If you know so much, little wolf, then say my name properly. I will even say yours, if you prefer."

An offer to sweeten the deal while testing her.

A smirk pulls at her lips, "If you insist; though you need not change your version of my name, only your tone, Fen'Harel."

Everything stops. His heart, his breath, the very fabric of time feels frozen as his real name passes through those tender lips. His eyes are fixed on hers, wide in shock as he can _feel_ the curve of her lips pulling upward into a wicked smile that tells him she knows she's won.

Anger rushes away as if a cool river has diverted its course to flow over him and wash it all away, leaving only shock, wonderment, and fear. He has been so careful, so particular in how much information he's given, so careful in his web of constructed lies. And now _he_ is the one choking on it.

A snicker issues from the creature in front of him, "I've rendered the Dread Wolf speechless. I should mark the day. What an accomplishment!" she smiles, but it is somehow not unkind.

"Would you like to hear my proposal, Fen'Harel?"

He stares at her, wondering at how she can be so calm, so collected. He nods, despite his dread at what she might say.

"Very well. I propose that you never again lie to me. That you tell me the truth when I ask it. Because I know who you are now, Fen'Harel. I can call you in Uthenera to my side as quickly as you can to me, and rip the truth from your dreams. You will not lie to me again. In return, I will give you that which is yours, as well as that which is truly only mine to give."

He snorts, "First, you cannot enter Uthenera. You are not an immortal elvhen. Second, I have no idea what it is you are speaking of. You have nothing of mine to give, and I do not desire anything which you can give besides the mending of the rifts."

He is sure of himself. She may know who he is, but she has no idea what she is talking about. She has nothing he needs beside the magic from the anchor, which he already knows he will need his foci to retrieve. If it isn't already tied to her soul, at least. Even if it is, that is not the worst loss. His foci will have more than enough power for his plans.

He watches as she tilts her head, open curiosity written across her face, "Is that really all you see, Fen'Harel? Are you truly certain? Perhaps it would behoove you to look before you leap into a chasm of ignorance."

At her last words, he begins to see something impossible. Her eyes darken, then illuminate, blue against black, the smoke of divinity seeping from the corners of her eyes, thin though it may be, to curl around her arms in a pattern that he recognizes all too well. He grips her arms in his hands, trying to block the magic flowing through her before she can finish casting. The panic is sure to be clear in his eyes as they flick over her face, desperation in his voice as he begs her not to do this.

"Stop! No, do not do this, _lethallan_ , please! It will kill you! Please!"

He watches, horror-stricken as she pushes him off and back, finishing the spell and transforming before him into his wolf. Only, it's smaller. After a few moments, he realizes it is her wolf and his, a perfect blend. Six blue eyes, but on her wolf's small frame. He can tell she's having trouble holding the shape, but she struggles on, taking small, painful steps toward him. On the last step, she falters, whimpering pitifully as her front legs wobble and give out, crashing her upper body to the ground in a bowing position. Her back legs struggle to hold the rest of her up. He cannot take any more.

"Please, _lethallan,_ change back," he moves to his hands and knees and leans down to lower his face to hers, "Please, I beg you. This ancient magic is not meant to be used by any but the gods themselves, it will kill you if you persist."

Her back legs give out as her rump joins the rest of her on the ground. Why is she holding out? What does she want? She stretches her neck forward and licks the tip of his nose, then collapses, her eyes beginning to drift closed.

"NO! No, no, no, no, not like this, not like this!"

Then, it hits him, "I agree. I agree to your proposal. Is that what you want?"

She gives a weak wag of her tail in response, too weak to do anything else.

"Then yes, if it will save your life, I agree. Please, _lethallan,_ give up this lethal exercise. I agree."

A great sigh of relief issues from her as she slowly shakes from one side to the other, dismissing the magic. The smoke quickly dissipates, flowing back into her eyes as the divine glow fades and retreats, her normal form returning. She is left prone on the ground, shaking with weakness, her face inexplicably shining with gratitude and relief.

He quickly begins to heal her, pouring his power into her to help restore her mana to the point of weakening himself temporarily to see her as fully recovered as he can make her. If she is somehow his vessel, he will not see her fall to the power she holds. As she finally gets some strength back in her limbs, she begins to slowly sit up, letting him aid her with supportive hands until she is sitting up properly, then waving him off.

She takes a few ragged breaths, using one arm to steady herself against the ground. She looks at him and nods, the same nod she always uses to say that she is alright, he can stop worrying. But the truth is, he never stops worrying. It's past time he admitted that to himself. That simple truth is more liberating than he ever imagined. To admit that he cares about her, about another living soul. He is not sure what it will mean in the long run, but there will be a long run, if what she's said is true.

He shakes his head, "How? How did this happen?"

She tries to chuckle, but it ends in a cough that racks her small frame for several moments before she recovers. She takes a few softly rasping breaths before she tries to explain.

"Redcliffe. The red lyrium future. I told you the truth there. Before we came back, you gave me your essence, gave everything, turned to stone, then Dorian pulled me through the portal. I... it would be easier to let him tell you. He's ready now."

He eyes her skeptically, "Did he make you transform to force my hand?"

She chuckles, successfully this time. "No. That was me. You wouldn't believe me if I didn't give proof, and he was being too stubborn to just give himself over. I pushed both of you. Not very smart of me, but here we are."

A pained smile etches itself onto his lips, "Indomitable will, indeed, little wolf. I yield. You have most certainly won this game."

She laughs, "Not yet, I haven't."

Suddenly, she coils and pushes forward, her hands grasping the sides of his face as her lips crash into his, shocking a gasp from him that she takes advantage of to flick her tongue across the tip of his, teasing, demanding as he feels her smile against his lips.

Then, he feels the pull of power as it rushes from her, sliding into him, fixing itself to his soul as a torrent of images flashes through his mind, memories, emotions, agony, bliss, tearing through his senses all at once. The kiss is broken, but he doesn't notice, his mind and soul are overflowing with the power and memories of his own soul but not, one removed and different, but still familiar. It is too much.

He sifts through it all, unable to register everything at first, when at once, he becomes aware that it isn't only his doubles' memories that came across, but hers. Hers, with her memory of the... future? Not the red lyrium future, but the very real future she had lived for over a year; all the memories of the places they'd gone, the wars she'd fought, the Games she had learned to play in various courts, the... kiss stolen in the Fade, the return of it with bold passion.

The love that formed over time, the kiss on the balcony where he warned her that it would be kinder if he left. The fluttering of her heart when he turned back and kissed her with the ferocity of someone who knew he was going to lose her but wanted to remember those fleeting moments of happiness, knowing it would devastate her, but being too selfish to stop.

He sees her drink of the Well of Sorrows, watches as she is pulled into Uthenera, another place a mortal should never be able to enter, as the voices of eons speak to her, demanding that she bind herself to the service of Mythal for eternity in exchange for their wisdom. She agrees, desperation driving her on. He feels her heart sadden at his disappointed words after they return to _Tarasyl'an Te'las_.

The moment in the grotto, the flow of magic over her face as he removed the _vallaslin_ to see her true beauty... his heart nearly bursts as he sees the adoration in his eyes, behind the reflection of her face. Then, the crushing defeat as he walks away. He watches the memory as she collapses there, she cannot see him anymore, he is gone. She falls to her knees and cries out in wordless agony as the cold reality of truth sets in that he has abandoned her, completely and utterly.

The vision of memory slowly shifts to the defeat of Corypheus, the breaking of his foci, the claim that whatever comes, what they had was real falling on deaf ears. It was too little, too late. The shift to her standing alone on the same balcony they'd kissed on, staring straight ahead at the dawn with coldness in her heart that settles deep in her bones.

The futile searches for him as her advisors look on in pity, giving the searches their best effort because they can see the pain eating at her, chipping away her resolve day by day. She avoids sleep, because sleep will bring the Fade, and the Fade will bring images of him she cannot bear to see, cannot stand to remember, lest her resolve shatter. When her body can no longer stand it, she collapses into her bed and cries herself to sleep, weeping for the void in her chest where her heart should be.

And as she finally jolts awake in the Fade, the scene spills out before her of him approaching Mythal, of her giving her power, such as it is, to him, a second orb of power following quickly and jolting him with the strength of it. He hears his little wolf gasp and sees his Fade vision self turn sharply to look for the source of the sound, but she forces herself awake before his eyes see her. Eyes glowing with the power of divine.

He watches as she deals with the revelation of his identity, feels her wanting to disbelieve it, but slowly putting the facts together, puzzling the pieces until she sees the entire picture. It takes a week, but she finally understands. Where he expects fear or anger, he sees.. elation. Sadness, but understanding. Forgiveness.

She sleeps more soundly now, though she still cries herself to sleep, but it is for missing him, and not for the void that is no longer there. The void that is slowly being replaced by a living, beating heart. Hardened, steeled with resolve, but alive.

She sleeps and wakes, and she is in barred manacles. It all starts again. He watches as the events of the past months fly by, watches as she hides her truth until she cannot hold it any longer. Watches as she first tells Dorian, then him in that horrid future.

Watches as he sacrifices himself and gives himself into her care. Watches as he explains in the void of the time portal what he has done. He understands it now. But he keeps watching as the previous night plays through his mind, showing her Arlathan, his temple, his true form. Kissing her with the love and passion she deserves. Feeling the absence of magic when she wakes and her panicked realization of what the world had lost. Of what he had done. Of what he intended to do.

He sat and watched as it kept playing until the moment she kissed him. It stops.

He gasps for breath, his eyes wide and wild, searching for an anchor as he falls forward on his hands, his fingers digging into the grass and dirt as he re-orients himself to this world. It is almost as painful as the transition she had felt on waking from Arlathan.

He feels a cool hand touch his cheek, and he raises his head to look at her. Her expression is concerned, curious. She doesn't speak, letting her magic speak for her as it reaches out to caress the cheek she isn't touching, displacing the tears that roll down, ones he hadn't even realized he'd shed.

He stares at her, feeling the tendrils of his darkened heart reach out and take root in hers. Feels his soul unravel, as the threads weave themselves into the ragged edges of her own. His words, all of his cleverness, every thought leaves him as he feels the binding take hold, wrenching and pulling him inextricably toward her as he surges forward, gathering her in his arms and crushing his lips to hers, desperately clinging to her as though she is the one thing holding him to the ground at this moment, because she is.

He kisses her with every ounce of passion he can muster, his magic enveloping her and caressing her, letting his emotions flow through it and showing her exactly how much he loves her, how much he desires her, and how completely certain he is that he will never leave her side again.

When he finally breaks apart, reluctantly, for air, he speaks in ancient elvhen, because he knows she will understand now.

"I am so sorry for the pain I put you through, my heart, my desire, my soul. I do not know if you can forgive me, but if you can find it within you to do so, I will never leave your side again. This, I will swear, on any name you choose."

She gives him a happy, but somewhat wicked grin, replying in ancient elvhen, "Swear on none but your own name, Fen'Harel. I bind you to your oath on your own name. It is an oath you can never break, lest you be untrue to yourself."

He rests his forehead on hers, locking his eyes with hers as he replies, "Then I swear on my soul, on my heart, on my desire, and on my name, for they all belong to you."

She smiles, tears tipping over her lashes and down her cheeks. He kisses them away, tasting the salt on his lips as he kisses hers, sealing the oath and the bond. He holds her tightly to him as he presses his forehead to hers gently, their breaths mixing as he softly speaks.

"I love you, little wolf."

She grins, "And I love you, Dread Wolf."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> By the by, if any of you are interested, here's my info:  
> Skype: shannaleia  
> Tumblr: [Actually-Fen-Harel](http://actually-fen-harel.tumblr.com/)  
> Twitter: [Actually_Fen_Harel](https://twitter.com/Spyke1985)  
> DeviantArt: [ActuallyFenHarel](http://actuallyfenharel.deviantart.com/)
> 
> I'm on Skype 24/7, unless I'm asleep, or not at home.
> 
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> 
> Thanks for reading! If you enjoy the story, or this chapter in particular, please feel free to leave a review with your thoughts! I love reading comments, and reply to all of them. <3


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Translations:
> 
> Ma nehn = my joy.
> 
> Ma sa'lath/lath = my one (or true) love/love.
> 
> Tel'abelas = not sorry.
> 
> Emma abelas = I am sorry
> 
> * * *
> 
> Translations also provided in hover text, as always.

She chuckles as they lay side by side in the grass, looking at him curiously.

"So, Fen'Harel. Can you hunt with me now?" An impish smirk dances its way across her face.

His brows crease together, "I am uncertain. I could attempt it, if you like."

She nods, eagerly.

He huffs and sits up, settling himself on his knees and facing her as he summons the magic forth. The smoke is more sluggish than she remembers from the previous night in his temple. But it comes, sweeping out and curling around his limbs and body just as thickly as it had then, until he is awash with it. He leans forward as he transforms, paws meeting ground solidly. He shakes the smoke from his fur and looks at her as if he expects a treat for his performance.

She snickers at his expression, but it is not what has her quirking her head to the side in curiosity.

"You're... smaller than I remember. I wonder if..." she trails off, leaving the thought hanging in the air as she calls her own wolf out, sitting in front of him.

He's still taller than she is, but not by nearly as much as she'd thought he would be. Perhaps his reduced size is a side effect of not having his full power? Or perhaps the Fade version of him was simply exaggerated.

She mentally shrugs, nuzzling under his chin, brushing her fur against his affectionately. It matters little in the grand scheme of things if he is still slightly diminished; they will get his foci back, of this she is confident.

He gently returns her nuzzling motions, though it's slightly awkward for him, as he has to duck down further to actually get under her chin. She gives a rumbling huff of a laugh, licking his nose when he moves out from under her to face her again. He returns the lick and shakes himself free of his wolf form. She follows suit, curious why he changed back.

He is the first to speak, "As much as I would enjoy a hunt, do we not have a battle and a few other confrontations to plan for?"

She tilts her head, "I suppose, though there's really not a lot to discuss regarding Corypheus. I don't wish to interfere with how the battle progresses. I've already altered certain variables slightly to ensure a bit more readiness, I don't think it's a good idea to do more. It could change the battle too much, which would leave us in uncharted territory. The battle is already difficult enough, without added complications."

He nods, "That is wise; however, you now have a more powerful ally in your fight than you had the last time. I could stay and confront the blighted Magister with you, perhaps weaken him, or his dragon enough to retrieve the foci early. It would certainly give us an edge over him."

She shakes her head sharply, "No. Absolutely not."

His eyebrows crease together, "Why? I am aware of how you escape, I can follow you easily."

She sighs, pinching the bridge of her nose, "Fen'harel... _fenedhis_ , I'm going to have to keep calling you Solas in mixed company, aren't I?"

His pained half smile is all the response she needs. "Annoying. Anyway, there're several reasons I don't want to have you there to confront him," she begins ticking the reasons off on her fingers, "He will recognize you, I don't want to play that card yet. And I don't want him knowing that you have more power than you had the last time he met you. It's too soon for him to know that. He has your foci. He could easily use your own magic against you, even if he doesn't fully understand it. I won't risk it."

At this, he chuckles.

She raises an eyebrow, "And what is so amusing, dread wolf?"

He grins, "My own magic is exactly the only magic that cannot be used against me. No matter how he may have twisted it, the foci of a god cannot be used to harm the god it belongs to. I am surprised my future self did not share that information with you, but it is time you knew. Corypheus poses a threat to this world, it is true, and he could use other methods than my foci to bring harm to me. But they would pale in comparison to the damage the foci of another god could do to me, for instance. I am safe from him, in this case, at least."

"Perhaps," she pauses, remembering that Corypheus is not the only threat to come to the field tonight, "But his dragon could harm you, as surely as it could harm me. You are not immune to dragons, _ma vhenan_."

He nods, "True enough, though it is a slight risk, which I am willing to take in order to regain my foci. I do not know how he survived activating it, but it will obey me, now that it is active. He will not be able to resist, and once I have it, controlling the dragon will be a pittance."

She sits in the grass and sighs, "You do realize this is exactly what I meant by changing the course of the battle, right? If you have your foci, it would be a simple task for us to dispose of the dragon and Corypheus right then and there. You saw how I defeated him before. With his dragon dead and your foci lost to him, he's left to his own power, which I've already defeated once. It would completely change events as I know them."

He joins her on the ground and tilts his head, expression confused, "Would his defeat not be a good thing? It would certainly be better than waiting around for the inevitable final battle. A great many lives are put at risk with his very existence. Surely it would be better to wipe him out now, saving those lives?"

She huffs in frustration, "Look into my memories, Solas. Look at the alliances made, the empires stabilized, the people we do save, the good we do. Thedas is a better place by the time you left us last time. Far better than it is right now. Would you begrudge this world that chance to right itself, with our help?

"Dispatching with Corypheus now would mean the Inquisition never even makes it to _Tarasyl'an Te'las_ , never even truly realizes its full potential. And if you still do plan to remove the veil at some point and release that which you imprisoned, which version of Thedas would be able to accept such a thing more easily? The version we know now, or the version with the Inquisition restoring order everywhere? While I understand your reasons for suggesting it, if we alter the time line this drastically, I do not believe Thedas would become a place worth inhabiting."

He shakes his head, "You cannot know that for certain. No-one can. The Inquisition could easily carry on to do the same amount of good, whether Corypheus is dead or alive."

She blinks owlishly at him, "Solas, I have _lived_ this. I know how this goes, in case you'd somehow forgotten. You've had your chance to play it your way once already. Let me play it my way. Once I get the foci from him in the end, I will give it to you. You will be at my side. I will not be so careless this time. And once this is all over with, I will go with you to whatever mission you chose to take on. They won't need me to close rifts anymore, and I can keep in touch by raven. Patience, _ma vhenan_. This will work out for the best."

She reaches for his hands and clasps his in hers, squeezing gently and smiling in reassurance. She watches as he thinks it through, his emotions plain on his face. Frustration, impatience, reluctance, a struggle with himself until he finally looks her in the eyes and finds acceptance.

He sighs, his head bowing slightly, "Very well, little wolf. We will play this your way. And do not worry abut Cole. I can speak with him, show him what is at stake. Spirits, even ones as complex as he is, are things I understand. I can bring him up to speed quickly. He should not pose a problem after that. I assume you will be notifying Dorian of what has happened?"

She nods, "Yes, as soon as I get back. Knowing Dorian, he won't rest until I tell him."

They chuckle together, and she can't help but feel the elation of being with him again, of not having any barriers or lies this time. It is wonderful to be able to start again with a clean slate. Perhaps she will even learn to trust him properly, as time goes on. She has more than enough time now to find out. Knowing she has this much time is... intoxicating. She wishes she had more time _now_ to sit and talk with him; she has so many questions to ask, so much catching up to do. But the position of the sun gives her the time as mid-afternoon, and she is on a time table she cannot disobey.

She smiles ruefully, "We must go, dread wolf. Would you like to join me to speak with Dorian? After, it will be time to seal the Breach. The first time, at least."

He nods, "I would like that. Perhaps he and I can coexist more peacefully this time. I seem to recall some memories of yours that indicate we were... slightly antagonistic toward each other."

She laughs, "Just slightly? If you weren't talking about magical theory or the Qun, you were nearly at each others' throats. Misunderstandings and differences in culture, mostly. He means well, but he's from a different society. He tries to reach out to you several times, but his attempts are sadly lacking in tact on several occasions. The ire he raised in you didn't help matters."

"Ah, well, I shall attempt to be more open-minded concerning him, then. He seems to be someone of great importance to you, if your feelings in your memories are any indication."

She smiles fondly, "Yes, Dorian is a true friend. I would never have expected an Altus from Tevinter to be such a steadfast and loyal ally, but he is. He will defend any of us to the death, by the end. I value his advice and his friendship. It is... precious to me."

He raises an eyebrow, "Should I be jealous, _ma vhenan_? I am sure you know that wolves do not share their mates."

She blushes, but shakes her head, "No, _ma nehn_ , there is no danger there. He exclusively prefers the company of men, in that manner, at least. It won't stop us from flirting constantly, but it's just playful banter, no more."

Understanding spread across his face, "Ah, I see. Then I shall endeavor not to make an ass of myself with any jealous feelings your banter might incur."

She gives a coy smile and leans in, settling on her knees, her face inches from his. "There is no need to be jealous, _ma nehn_ ," she cups his face in her hands, stroking his cheeks with her thumbs and brushing her lips against his, then slowly moving her lips to his ear, "My heart will never belong to any but Fen'harel. And I know he is a jealous god, I have always known this. Which is why my soul has never sung the praise of any other god. I would not allow it, no matter the ridicule, no matter the false tales, no matter the fear and hatred he was wrongly given, I knew there was more to the dread wolf. And I knew, deep in my soul, that one day he would come to me, and show me what it meant to truly be alive."

She moves back to his lips, whispering the last words before pressing her kiss to his mouth, " _And I was right_."

He growls, reaching for her and pulling her to him, settling her to straddle his lap as he deepens the kiss, his arms enfolding her and caressing her hungrily. Her heart trips over itself to catch up to the rapture she feels at being so wholly accepted into his embrace, as a deeper understanding of how much he'd been holding back before permeates her senses. She makes a small, pitiful sound into his mouth as she's overwhelmed by how deeply rooted the transformation is.

The short, fleeting moments they'd shared before pale in comparison as his magic flows over and through her, Fade touching where his hands are absent, nearly to the point of over-stimulation, but not quite. He holds her there, right on the edge of the knife, never pushing down or pulling back, but keeping her in exquisitely blissful torture. It is transcendent.

She regrets it more deeply than she feels she ever could before when she has to pull away for air. Gasping, she meets his eyes with lustful wonderment. His magic slowly retreats, though he holds her gaze with equally lustful hunger. She feels his magic's absence in her very bones.

"That," she takes another harried breath, "was amazing."

His wolfish grin is more than enough to tell her he is enjoying himself immensely, "It was meant to be. I can teach you to do that to me, with practice. I have apparently been waiting a long time to show that to you. I am sorry I could not show you sooner."

She shakes her head, then presses her forehead to his, "You've shown me now. That is what matters. This is a second chance for us, and I, for one, will not waste it."

He smiles, capturing her lips in a quick kiss before he backs up slightly and speaks, "Nor will I. I... must ask, the vallaslin, do you wish to keep it? I saw you ask for its removal last time. I will not press the issue, if you wish to keep it."

She quirks her head slightly, fascinated that he would give her the choice to keep it again. But she is curious. "I know the answer, but they are your marks. I am curious what you would prefer."

He raises an eyebrow in surprise, "It may be my mark, _vhenan_ , but it does not belong on your face. You are not, nor have you ever been, my slave. You might not have my power, but in every other way you are my equal now. And the marks we have placed on each other are much deeper than any blood writing or anchor could ever be. If you wish to remove your _vallaslin_ again, I will gladly do it for you."

She smiles, nodding softly, "Yes. Cast your spell, Fen'harel. Free one more slave."

Sadness and recognition, then a small joy flash through his eyes as he holds her gaze. Lifting his hands to perform the same spell he'd done before, he gently feathers his hands over her face as the magic lifts the blood writing from her skin as if it had never been there to begin with.

A small, almost subtle gasp issues from him, the word breathed like a prayer when he utters it, "Beautiful."

She smiles and blushes, curling her hands over his bare head and placing a kiss on his forehead, then cheeks, then lips.

"Thank you, _ma nehn_."

His smile is peaceful. "You are more than welcome, _ma sa'lath_. Thank you for allowing it."

She smiles, nodding.

Something catches her attention as she strokes his head: stubble. She raises an eyebrow, looking him in the eyes as a question bubbles over her lips.

"So you do shave it. I always wondered. A part of the deception of Pride, I assume?"

He hums, "Partly. It is also a matter of convenience. When one is an apostate wandering the wilderness, there is not much call for a mirror, or room in packs for a fragile item such as a comb. I could grow it out if you prefer. It will not affect my cover overly much for those that I still need to maintain it with."

Her eyes grow wide as he mentions growing his hair out, her head beginning to nod even before he finishes speaking.

"Yes, if it's alright. What I saw of it in Arlathan was... very interesting." her crooked smile betrays exactly _how_ interesting.

He chuckles, "Very well."

He waves his hand over his head, casting some form of magic that is neither modern nor divine, and she watches as his hair slowly begins to grow, the wisps of magic teasing the hair to lengthen gently. By the time he lowers his hand, he is the spitting image of the elf she saw in Arlathan, but the hair is laying gently to the right side of his head, rather than tied back.

[](https://41.media.tumblr.com/4a85cef52fdf542edde045ab12a28e61/tumblr_nolizogzNU1u9bvv7o1_1280.png)  
[Fen'harel as I imagine him here. (By Eleonora Arcuri)] 

She threads her fingers through the rich brown tresses; in which she can see auburn highlights, thanks to the sun shining on it now. She leans forward to bury her face in his hair, inhaling deeply and memorizing the scent, the feel of the strands against her skin, the entire moment.

" _Ma lath_."

She barely manages a reply, her mind consumed and distracted as it is, "Hmm?"

His voice is amused, "If you still wish to go speak to Dorian, you may wish to cease the utterly delicious motions of your hips, lest I decide to reciprocate."

She freezes. She hadn't realized she'd been moving... that part of her body.

"I... um, sorry," she leans back and releases his hair, reluctantly.

He grins, " _Tel'abelas, ma lath_. I cannot be jealous of something that excites you so, when it is a part of me."

She grins, her blush rising high on her cheeks and spreading to the tips of her ears, which flick involuntarily, trying to rid themselves of the overly warm sensation. She leans down and claims his mouth sweetly with her own, lingering there for a few moments. She pulls away, giving a sad smile.

"We should go, _ma vhenan_ ," she uses his shoulders as leverage with her hands as she pushes herself out of his lap, then offers him a hand up in turn.

He takes it and hoists himself up, smiling as he stands and turning her hand to plant a kiss on her wrist.

She smiles and turns, calling her wolf forward as she falls, hearing him follow quickly as they bolt out of the clearing on swift legs, racing to the edge of the forest. He could easily beat her, but he holds back. She notices and nips at him teasingly, watching with pride as he launches forward and reaches the forest edge far before her. He waits until she joins him, and when they both shake themselves free of their wolf forms, they laugh together.

It's then that a thought strikes her. The thought turns into an idea and takes root.

" _Ma sa'lath_ , I just had a thought," she takes his arm as they step out into the light of the afternoon sun.

"And that would be?" he bends the arm she's taken and lays his hand over hers, gently stroking her skin.

"Well, I was reminded of the elvhen warriors who would fight with wolves at their sides... Why couldn't we do that? We could use our wolf forms as a disguise amongst the _shems_. Or, at least I could. Yours would need some... modifying to pass as a normal wolf. And of course, it wouldn't be exactly the same thing as those ancient warriors, but at least there's a historical precedent for such a bond to form."

He smirks, "And how would you propose we do this? The disguise, that is. My form can be easily adjusted as you suggest."

"Well," she snugs herself closer to him, leaning in as they walk in a conspiratorial manner, "you could be in wolf form and walk beside me, and if anyone asks, I could easily say you protected me from a rabid member of your pack and followed me home."

He laughs, "I am not sure how believable that would be, _ma lath_. And what if you were the wolf?"

She scoffs, "It would be plenty believable. As for the reverse situation, you could simply claim that I came up to you in the woods and became attached to you. Or that I was a friendly spirit that had taken wolf form. It's hardly the least believable thing you've claimed that everyone believed with little questioning."

He concedes this with a nod, "True enough. Shall we test this idea of yours, then?"

She stops in her tracks, startled by the suggestion, "What, _now_?"

He smiles, "Why not? We may as well see if the idea has merit. The templars will not be able to detect it as magic, since magic is only used at the beginning and end of the transformation, and it is such an ancient form of magic that most mages of this age would not know it if it stared them in the face. If it works, it could be useful."

She considers it. They are still far enough from any prying eyes to not have been spotted by anyone, so they have the advantage of privacy for the moment. "Who would be the wolf? And you realize we can't just switch back and forth between us; people would get suspicious if we suddenly both had canine companions, at different times. It would be an impossible ruse to keep up with. To be honest, I'm not even sure it is a ruse we could keep up at all. It could get complicated."

"Not if it's claimed as a spirit. They might question a spirit more at first, but if it were not present at random, that would not be questioned nearly as much as if it were an actual animal. Spirits have their own ambitions, and do not often stay in one place for long unless they chose to."

She huffs, blowing loose hairs out of her face, "Still, I'm not sure we can sustain it. Someone will eventually go looking for one of us while we're in wolf form and find us missing."

He shakes his head, "Not if I am the wolf. You are the only one that ever seeks me out."

She blinks, "Really? That's... surprising. Still, I think if anyone were to figure it out, Leliana would. And since her station is directly above yours in _Tarasyl'an Te'las_ , it would be difficult to hide it."

He chuckles, "You give me too little credit, _ma lath_. I kept my identity a secret from all of you for over a year, did I not? If I managed that without trouble, I imagine I can handle this much smaller deception."

She raises an eyebrow, "True enough. I do admit, I wonder a bit at your willingness to add this to your games. Will this not make things more unnecessarily difficult?"

He laughs, "Have you forgotten who I am, little wolf? I delight in games like these. Worry not, it will be a simple matter to keep them off my tail."

She sighs, reaching up to trail her fingers through his hair once more, leaning up to kiss him quickly.

"No, I have not forgotten, dread wolf. Very well, which story shall we go with?"

He leans down and nuzzles into her neck, arms encircling her loosely, "I am a spirit of peace that came to you in the form of a wolf. Not possessing one, mind you. It will help them accept Cole more readily if they have more than one example of such a spirit."

He backs up from her, waving his hand toward her, "Now change, I will need to study your wolf for a few moments to copy the form and size correctly."

"Oh. Alright," she calls her wolf forth, walking up to him as he moves to sit on a flat rock.

He watches her carefully, extending his hand in invitation. She nuzzles into his hand, earning a smile. He moves his fingers through her fur, feeling the thickness of it, the texture. His hands curl over her ears, tracing the edges until she flicks them and shakes her head. He chuckles and moves on, down her back to her tail, which he studies for a moment. His next field of study are her legs and paws, which he gently lifts, one after the other, to look at her claws. When he moves to her head again, he starts to lift her lip to look at her teeth, but she snorts and opens her mouth, curling her lips and tilting her head to give him a better view.

He nods, "Please turn 'round for me a few times. I should be done after that."

She complies, wonder piercing her thoughts at how quickly he must learn forms if this is all he needs. She gives him an extra turn in the opposite direction for good measure, then shakes her wolf form off.

She watches as he transforms in the same way she does, forgoing the divine power he holds. She wonders if the divine form only has the one version. Perhaps it is like the dragon transformations of the other gods, but his form is a wolf instead? She resolves to ask him about it later.

He tilts his head at her. She reaches out and scratches behind his ear. He did manage to get rather close to her own form, though it is still a touch larger than hers, and the eyes are still the color of his elvhen eyes.

She chuckles, "You're still bigger than me."

He huffs, shaking himself as he shrinks slightly. It takes a moment for the form to solidify, but once it does, it is nearly a replica of her wolf form.

She nods her approval, "Very good. The only way anyone will notice a difference between you and I in wolf form is by eye color."

He whines, then nudges her insistently.

"What? I can't read your mind, I'm not Cole."

He huffs, giving her the most frustrated, deadpan look he can manage in wolf form.

She snorts, "Well I get that you're frustrated, but that's not hard to tell. What, you want me to go wolf again or something?"

He nods.

"Oh," she changes quickly, facing him and sitting, head tilted curiously. She watches as he looks at her closely, then blinks slowly, his lids lifting to reveal the same green eyes that she looks out from.

She shakes herself free of her wolf and nods, "Good. I doubt anyone would notice the difference besides us now."

He doesn't change back to respond.

She cocks her head at him curiously, "Are you going to stay like that for now, then?"

He nods again.

She chuckles and shakes her head, "Alright then. We'd better go, if we want to get in a talk with Dorian before the Breach."

They head out in companionable silence toward Haven's gates, reaching the soldier's training camp in good time. When they move near Cullen, he stops her.

"Herald what-" he cuts himself off, peering at her carefully. It takes a few moments for him to form the words properly, "What happened to your markings?

She shrugs, "I'm surprised you saw them in the first place, as faint as they were; let alone noticed their absence. But, in answer to your question, I removed them."

He raises an eyebrow, "How? I thought they were... well, permanent?"

She shakes her head, "Magic is used to create them, magic can be used to remove them. I decided that if I am to have a new life here, then I should accept it and not be held back by my past life. There is no point in looking back now, aside from to learn from mistakes made."

He seems pensive at her bold statement, and she realizes too late that he must be weighing what she'd said against his own past.

"But, that's just my personal opinion on my own situation. And you must admit, it is... unique," she quickly adds, hoping to soothe him a bit.

He nods, slowly, "I can imagine it is a comfort to come to such a conclusion. A pity, not all things can be left behind so simply."

She smiles sadly, "I never said it was simple. But yes, it is a pity."

His gaze slides to the wolf beside her, his brow furrowing and eyes widening in alarm, "Are you aware that there's a wolf beside you?"

He eyes the wolf with suspicion.

She smiles, "Yes, I am. We met on one of my walks a week or so ago. This time, it decided to follow me home. It's docile enough, I don't think it would bother anyone," she chuckles, "Except me, perhaps."

He gives her a surprised look, "Are you certain? Wild wolves are not known for their docile natures, even once domesticated."

"Perhaps they aren't, but this isn't just a wolf. It's a spirit of peace, and I think as long as it's introduced to everyone properly, it should be alright."

"A spirit? So it's a demon?" he asks with alarm.

She sighs, "No, it's not a demon. It's a spirit that's manifested itself willfully in a physical form. It sensed my desire to promote peace in this world and was drawn to our cause. It just wants to help."

He creases his brows, "Are you certain it isn't a demon? It could have tricked you."

She pins him with a glare, her lips pursed with annoyance, "Cullen, I'm a mage, remember? I know the difference. The Dalish have a version of the harrowing your circles use, though it's far less brutal and the mages being tested are far more prepared for it than the ones in the circle. I know the difference between a spirit that means no harm and a demon that wants to possess a body. This spirit didn't possess a wolf, it manifested itself _as_ a wolf. A demon wouldn't have the purity to be able to take on such a form without possession. Test it, if you must, though I would rather you didn't, considering how much damage that will do to it."

He shakes his head, "No, I... I believe you. If it truly does wish to help us, I would not wish it harm. It's simply... unusual."

"These are unusual times. And, really, it's not so unusual. In the times of the ancient elvhen, there were many warriors that had wolf companions. They fought, ate, and lived together in perfect harmony. I think it is rather fitting that it chose the form of a wolf, considering the history.

He eyebrows raise in surprise, "I had no idea. That is an interesting bit of history. I suppose it does make sense, in a way."

She smiles, nodding, "You should introduce yourself. Hold your hand out, let it smell you. You're armored, so no need to fear a bite."

He hesitates, but soon relents, "If you insist," he sticks his hand out, "I would rather it be tested on myself than on one of our less armored compatriots."

Fen'harel sniffs Cullen's hand and rests his muzzle on his fingers, wagging his tail and looking up at Cullen.

Cullen chuckles, scratching under Fen'harel's chin, "Well, it seems friendly, I'll give you that much. Just take precautions. I will let our Spy-master and Seeker know as well."

She nods, smiling, "Thank you. I have to go talk to Dorian, but I'll let them meet it after."

He nods and lets his hand fall back to his side, "Good. Does it speak?"

She shakes her head, "Not since it took on this form. It seemed to believe the sacrifice necessary in order to aid our cause."

He rests his hands in their customary position, on his sword's pommel, "Rather noble of it to make such a sacrifice."

She smiles, "I thought so. It can still understand what we say, though."

He looks at Fen'harel, "Then you have my gratitude, spirit. We appreciate whatever aid you can render. Though you should know, we will all be watching you carefully."

Fen'harel bows his head gently, then nudges Lavellan.

"Ah, yes. We should be going. Please do let Leliana and Cassandra know, I will do my best to inform the others. I'm sure Leliana will tell Josie," she pauses, "Actually, perhaps you should let her know as well. I wouldn't wish to spring it on her. Leliana has enough to worry about without having to explain it to Josie while she's still trying to understand it herself."

Cullen gives a small bow, "Of course, Herald. Good luck with the Breach."

She returns the bow, "Thank you, Cullen."

She moves on quickly, walking through the gates and up the steps. Varric is nowhere to be seen, so she heads past the tavern to Dorian's house instead.

She knocks on the door, and Dorian replies from inside, "Come in!"

She opens the door and waits for Fen'harel, then comes in herself before closing it behind them, "Dorian, I don't want to startle you, but there's a friendly wolf with me."

"A _what_?" his incredulous voice replies, soon after followed by his head peeking around the half wall between them, his eyes locked on Fen'harel.

"A friendly wolf," she edges closer to him, lowering her voice, "It's Fen- I mean, Solas," she sighs, "I really have to get used to saying that."

Dorian moves out from behind the wall slowly, eyes still on Fen'harel, "So... what, is this his fabled wolf form?"

She laughs, "Not quite. That... well, that's actually my wolf form."

He finally rips his eyes away from Fen'harel to focus on her, " _Yours_? And when were you going to share this juicy little tidbit, exactly? Also, what's different about you? Something's... off."

She shrugs, "Now? It hadn't really come up before this. And you're seeing my bare face. No _vallaslin._ Solas removed it."

He crosses his arms, lips drawn into a thin line, "Did you want him to do that?"

She smiles, "Yes, I did. In Arlathan, _vallaslin_ were slave markings. He removed them last time, too; at my request, once I knew."

Dorian hums, "Well as long as it's what you wanted. I can understand not wanting that kind of stigma, so good for you, I suppose."

She nods, "Yes, it is good. I am free."

Dorian sighs, seeming to accept her answer with a small smile.

"Well, come on then," he waves one arm at her, then returns it to its crossed position, "show me this wolf form of yours. May as well get it all out now."

She smirks and moves back next to Fen'harel, calling her wolf out and sitting next to her twin, mirroring him.

Dorian's eyes widen, his jaw dropping slightly before he closes it with an audible click, "Maker's balls, you weren't joking, were you?"

He takes a few cautious steps towards them, squinting at them both in turn, "You really are identical. How did you manage that, I wonder? And who did you learn this magic from?"

She looks at Fen'harel and nods her head toward Dorian, shaking herself free of her wolf as Fen'harel follows suit.

"Andraste's tits! You have hair!" Dorian exclaims, his face a mixture of shock and curiosity as he stares at Fen'harel.

Fen'harel chuckles, "I have always had hair. I simply shaved it."

Dorian looks at him in wonder, "But why? It looks so much better like this."

Fen'harel shrugs, "Mostly convenience. Living as I have for many years alone and wandering does not lend itself well to caring for copious amounts of hair for the sake of vanity alone."

Dorian hums, then points at them both in turn, "Alright, tell me about this wolfy thing. Him I understand knowing how, but you," he points at Lavellan, "I had no idea you could do it. Who taught you?"

She smirks, "A witch of the wilds. Her name is Morrigan. You'll meet her fairly soon. She taught me after I begged her younger self to in a chance meeting when I was a child. But I am curious, would you like to see the real dread wolf in his natural form?"

Dorian raises an eyebrow, "Perhaps. Exactly how dreadful is this form that earns it that name?"

She chuckles, "It's... not his form that earned him the name. Not really. Though it is a bit... different than a regular wolf. But he's a god, so that's to be expected."

Dorian snugs his arms tighter around himself; his voice tight, hesitant as he speaks, "Alright then, show me."

Fen'harel nods and casts his spell, falling forward and shaking the divine smoke from his fur. He takes a few steps towards Dorian, then sits.

Dorian eyes him suspiciously, then looks to Lavellan, "That's... interesting. Six eyes? How... he's not going to eat me, is he? I mean he's still... _him_ , right?"

Before she has a chance to answer, Fen'harel huffs and moves the last step to Dorian, nudging the necromancer's hand with his nose gently, then sitting once more. Dorian manages not to flinch.

He does look down at Fen'harel with apprehension, however, "Very reassuring."

He looks back up at Lavellan with a raised brow.

She smiles and nods encouragingly, "Go ahead, he won't bite unless you do something incredibly stupid, which I somehow doubt you'd do anyway."

"Such as?"

She snorts, "Put yourself in his place and imagine what might cause you to actually bite someone. Whatever it is, don't do it and you should be fine."

He slowly reaches out, pressing his forefinger forward and gently poking Fen'harel on the bridge of his nose, before retreating quickly.

Lavellan laughs, Fen'harel joining her with a few rumbling huffs.

"What?" Dorian asks indignantly, "That was the one thing I could think of that would be relatively safe for someone to do to me if I were in... his position."

She sighs and walks over to Fen'harel, sliding her hand up behind his ear and scratching as he leans into the attention. She looks at Dorian pointedly.

"Well of course you can do that, you're like him."

She raises an incredulous eyebrow, "Exactly in what way am I like him, other than being elvhen?"

"Well there's that, and you're both immortal, and you can both change into wolves, and there's also the bonus that he actually likes you. He barely knows me."

She nods thoughtfully, "Point taken. However, you have been invited to pet him, should you desire, and he does know you. As well as I do, at least."

Dorian looks at her with alarm, "How? We've barely spoken two words to one another."

At that, Fen'harel shakes free of his wolf form and answers for her, "When she transferred my red lyrium future essence to me, the memories he had seen in her mind came with him. I now know what she knows of the future."

Dorian scoffed, "Well that's a handy trick. Too bad you couldn't do it for me, it would've saved a lot of sneaking about, not to mention a lyrium potion."

"It can be done," Fen'harel answers, "Once I get my foci back. Then again, by that point, it will hardly matter."

Dorian's brow creases as he begins to pace, slowly, "It takes that long to get it back, then?"

Lavellan nods, "Yes. Last time, it was destroyed through carelessness. This time, Solas will be there to keep that from happening."

He stops, turning to her sharply, "What if that's it?"

"What if what's it?"

He shakes his finger at her excitedly, "The foci being destroyed, what if that is what sent you back?"

She shakes her head, "No, I was sent back weeks later. Though I suppose it could've been as an eventual result of the foci being destroyed, but I don't see how."

Fen'harel speaks up, "I believe I can answer that. If what I saw in your memory is a true account of what you witnessed in the Fade - my theft of Mythal's power - it is entirely possible that I sent you back to do precisely as you have done, as well as to retrieve my foci. I cannot know this for certain, but with enough power, it would be possible. It would be even more likely, if I found that I did not have enough power to complete my mission."

Dorian hums, "I hate to admit it, but that does sound plausible enough. But is it a one-way trip? Could she be pulled back into that future once she obtains the foci?"

Fen'harel shakes his head, "No," he turns to her, "The second orb essence I saw in your Fade vision, it was not Mythal. That was from her grandson, yes?"

She nods, "I believe so. He was the vessel for the soul of an archdemon named Urthemiel, the one that heralded the fifth blight. He gave it to Mythal before we defeated Corypheus. Why do you ask?"

"Because that would indeed give me the power to send you back. It is likely that I returned to _Tarasyl'an Te'las_ the night you came back and cast the spell. It would fit."

Dorian pipes up, "But why not send yourself back? Couldn't you have done that and gotten your foci yourself? And what's this tarasylantelas?"

Fen'harel shakes his head, "No. Gods cannot travel time themselves. We can send others back in time, but we are fixed, stuck. And it takes a great deal of power to send another back, power we do not get back without our foci. So, as I am sure you can imagine, we do not do it without foci, as I did, unless the situation is dire. It is likely, if that future even exists anymore, that I am either dead, or captured and powerless. As to _Tarasyl'an Te'las_ , it is the place we flee to after Haven is rendered uninhabitable by Corypheus. You will see soon enough."

Dorian raises an eyebrow, "Powerless? You wouldn't even have magic? And I look forward to it. I think."

"I doubt I would have any magic left unless the second essence carried a great deal more power than I believe it would. Even if it did, I would still be greatly diminished, beyond how I was when I woke from Uthenera."

Dorian gives a low whistle, "Andraste's knickers, it must take a lot more power than I thought to send someone through time, then. It's no wonder Alexius needed that amulet to be so charged to pull it off. I don't even want to think of how many people Corypheus gave him to sacrifice for that damned trinket to work."

"It is more likely that he charged it with my foci. A god's foci can be used to create smaller foci that are safe for mortals to use. If Corypheus had understood the power of my foci better, he could even have made the amulet's magic stable, instead of creating utter chaos and ripping a hole in time. It is actually fortunate that he did not, as he could have succeeded in wiping Fen'da'len from time if he had."

Dorian focuses on Lavellan with a smirk, "Just how lucky are you, exactly? There seems to be as much stacked for you as there is against you. Especially this time around, I would imagine. I'm definitely going to stick close to you, maybe some of that luck will rub off on me."

Lavellan chuckles, "You've got plenty of your own luck, Dorian. Besides, I wouldn't want my bad luck rubbing off on you too. Not that I don't want you sticking around, mind you. Who would I have to pull my ass out of the fire if you weren't around?"

Dorian points at Fen'harel, "Him, for one. It's obvious to anyone with eyes that he's more than eager to protect your oh, so flammable ass."

She blushes, embarrassment clouding her features, "What makes you say that?"

Dorian chuckles darkly, "Well, the fact that you're blushing spells it out pretty well, my dear. But beyond that, he hasn't left your side for much longer than it took to show me his... god-wolf-thing, and he's been slowly moving closer and closer to you ever since then. He thinks he's subtle. He's not. He's in love."

Lavellan and Fen'harel glance at each other, sharing a quiet smile before he looks at Dorian and shrugs, "I have no desire to deny it."

Dorian clicks his tongue sharply, "Oh, get a room. You both need it. And from what she told me of that past year of her life, she needs it more than you. And you owe her. Also, god or no, if you dash her heart to pieces again, I will find you, and I will torment you in any way I can until I feel you've suffered enough to pay for your mistake. Which will likely be never, so don't do that; I get bored easily."

Fen'harel smirks, "Noted. You are a brave friend for caring enough to threaten me on her behalf. Foolish, but brave. Either way, it will not be needed. Circumstances have changed now. I will have no need to leave her side."

Dorian huffs, obviously slighted by the 'foolish' remark, "Well, I may be foolish, but I know what it's like to be slighted. I don't wish that on her. I hope you're being genuine."

Fen'harel nods appreciatively, "I do not wish it on her either. Believe what you will, but I am being genuine in this. She has my oath, one I cannot break. It is exceedingly rare for me to swear an oath to anyone; in fact, I can only recall doing it twice before."

Dorian is swift to inquire, "And did you break either of them?"

Fen'harel's expression is pensive, "The first I kept. The second... we shall see what the future holds. I do not have any wish to break it, but whether I do will depend on a great many things, none of which I can predict with any accuracy at this time."

Lavellan nods in understanding, "The second is to reverse your past actions."

"It is. As I said, we shall see. There may be a time in the future when it is more feasible to do so than it is now. But if such a time arrives, I would face it with you at my side."

She smiles and threads her fingers between his, "Together."

He returns her smile and gently squeezes her hand, "Together."

A groan from Dorian has them both turning their gazes to him.

"Seriously, get your own room. You two are so sweet it's sickening. And a little frightening."

Lavellan quirks her eyebrow, "Frightening? How so?"

Dorian looks to have bitten into an unripe fruit as he speaks, "You're both so... one. A united front, a single entity. It's as if you're no longer two individuals. It's both morbidly fascinating and highly disturbing to watch. A bit like a beheading, or a hanging, really."

Lavellan grimaces, "That's... more than a little creepy that you're equating us to gruesome images of death, Dorian."

Dorian huffs, "Perhaps I'm explaining it wrong, it's-"

"Like watching the hand of fate intervene and knowing you can do nothing to stop it, but being overwhelmed and stunned by it all the same," Fen'harel interrupts, casting a small smirk in Dorian's direction.

"Not how I would've put it, but close enough, I suppose," he replied, shrugging.

She grins, "It is what it is. I, for one, am glad for it. I have felt wrong for a long time. This feels _right_."

Dorian gives her a small smile, "Well, I wish you happiness. And I hope you're right about him. Tear stains down the front of my robe isn't a good look, and I'm afraid I don't know how to comfort a crying woman."

She shakes her head, "No, Dorian. I never burdened you with that. That's not anyone's burden but my own."

Fen'harel puts his arm around her shoulders, "It is not a burden anyone will have to carry again, if I have anything to do with it."

Dorian eyes him skeptically, "Let's hope so," he sighs, his expression turning to determination, "Well, I believe our next task is sealing the Breach, is it not? Then dealing with this Corypheus individual."

She nods, "Yes, though we'll encounter Cole just before Corypheus reaches us. Solas says he has a solution for that issue, though."

"Yes, I believe that will be well in hand by the time it matters. Actually, there is a possibility I could reach him in the Fade before he appears here. It would preempt any issues once he reaches us, if possible."

She considers the idea, nodding as she decides, "Yes. I could help you, even. It would take less time to find him and explain if we were both searching."

Fen'harel raises an eyebrow as he looks at her, "Are you certain you have enough control for a search like this? I would not be able to wait for you."

She rolls her eyes slightly, pursing her lips, "Yes, I'm certain. You won't have to wait for anyone."

He raises both eyebrows in surprise, " _Emma abelas_ , I had not realized you were that skilled."

She chuckles, "Only thanks to you. I had some experience before I met you last time, but you taught me much, once you discovered I was a dreamer. By the time you left, I could view memories in the Fade with almost as much clarity as you do."

Dorian interjects, clearing his throat to get their attention, "If you're both going into the Fade, I would like to observe in the waking world. I could wake you if too much time passes. You do intend to seal the Breach today, yes?"

"Of course. It was nearly evening when we did it last time, and Corypheus didn't appear until late in the night. But it would be good to have someone awake to make sure we didn't linger too long."

She moves forward and sits on the floor, motioning Fen'harel toward her, "Come. I don't know that marvelous little sleep spell you always use. Let's get this done so we have one less thing to worry about."

Fen'harel chuckles as he moves to sit next to her, turning to her as he speaks, "It is not a complex spell, I am surprised I never taught it to you."

She smiles sadly, "Well, you weren't exactly forthcoming with the spell you used to take my _vallaslin_ either. Or with anything else odd that you said or did, for that matter."

He has the decency to look cowed at her chastisement, "I am sorry, _ma sa'lath_. I had reason to be secretive then. I do not now. I will teach you all you wish to know."

She smiles and reaches out to squeeze his arm gently, "I look forward to it. For now, let's get on with it."

He sighs and lays back, watching as she settles in next to him.

Dorian grabs a book and sits in a chair nearby, sparing them a glance before he sets the book open on his lap, his eyes drawn down to it, "Sleep well, dearies. I'll wake you in a few hours."

She smiles, "Thank you, Dorian."

Fen'harel reaches over, sliding his hand gently over her cheek as his palm glows softly. By the time he leans down to kiss her forehead, she is fast asleep, racing toward the Fade.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> By the by, if any of you are interested, here's my info:  
> Skype: shannaleia  
> Tumblr: [Actually-Fen-Harel](http://actually-fen-harel.tumblr.com/)  
> Twitter: [Actually_Fen_Harel](https://twitter.com/Spyke1985)  
> DeviantArt: [ActuallyFenHarel](http://actuallyfenharel.deviantart.com/)
> 
> I'm on Skype 24/7, unless I'm asleep, or not at home.
> 
> Want my book? Get it here: [The Enemy In Me](http://www.amazon.com/dp/B00QZ5AI1K)
> 
> Thanks for reading! If you enjoy the story, or this chapter in particular, please feel free to leave a review with your thoughts! I love reading comments, and reply to all of them. <3


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A note/disclaimer: most of the elvish in this chapter was either come up with on the fly, or cobbled together as closely as I could via the wiki and a fan's interpretation of some of the words and my own making up of stuff. Some of it's canon, but the longer phrases are subject to being completely wrong. If Bioware had actually given us a full language, that could've been avoided. But oh well, I'm hardly the first fic writer out there to make up bits of language to fill the needs of a scene. Translations not given here at the top will be provided in the story. Please be patient and just go with it, if you would. <3
> 
> Also, emma abelas for this taking so long. I ran smack into a giant wall that I couldn't bash my head through for about two weeks. Thanks to cullenspoofypauldrons on tumblr, I managed to finally bust through it and get this going. So toss her a thanks in the comments if you're happy for a new chapter, because it wouldn't have happened anytime soon without her. <3
> 
> Translations:
> 
> Su an'banal i'ma: To the void with you
> 
> Ma uth'lath: My eternal love
> 
> Ma nuvenin: As you wish
> 
> da'fen: little wolf, Fen'harel's nickname for Fen'da'len, in elvish.
> 
> * * *
> 
> As always, translations are provided in hover text. As time goes on, the more commonly used elvish phrases will begin to lack hover text translations, as, frankly, if you don't know what those words mean by now, hover text isn't gonna help. :P

 

"Is she asleep?"

Fen'harel looks over at the Tevinter mage, nodding, "Yes. I should follow her, quickly. I am not as assured of her skill as she is."

Dorian nods, "Before you go, I want you to know I was serious about hurting her. I may not know her very well yet, but I believe in her and her cause. I also trust her. Maker knows she's shown more than enough trust in me to have earned it. You've already betrayed her once. It will take a lot for either of us to trust you. I will be watching. If she comes crying to me because of you, I will not be pleased."

Fen'harel sighs, "Dorian, she cares a great deal about you, so I will give you an insight you did not have last time. Leaving her in that future was the most difficult thing I have ever done. And I have done very many difficult things; sealing away my compatriots in the Fade, never to escape, for one. If you imagine that was an easy decision to make, let me dissuade you from that notion. It was not only emotionally excruciating, but necessitated my lengthy recovery in Uthenera. I remained there for nearly two thousand years to recover. I still have not recovered fully, thanks to Corypheus waking me by accident before it was time."

"By accident?" Dorian's confusion is evident in his pinched brow.

"Yes. I doubt he intended to wake me when he took my foci, but he did. The point is, while I greatly regret the deal I made with him for the sake of recovering a few hundred years ahead of time, I do not regret that it led me here, to her. I cherish the notion that neither of us will have to walk alone into the future we will all create. I will not leave her side. I have no reason to, now."

Dorian scoffs, "Yes, now. Why did you leave her before, if you're so intent upon staying with her this time?"

"Likely because she was mortal then. Tell me, Dorian: if you were in my place, if you fell for a mortal, would you rather give her a chance to live her life and fall for another? Or would you selfishly stay with her, knowing she would age and die; watching as you never change, her heart aching for you and for her because she could not stay? I sincerely doubt you could be that selfish. It was selfish of me to even entertain the thought of loving her, but it was far more selfless to release her when I did. I left for her own sake and mine; it was not meant to be."

Dorian laughs; a cold, biting sound that cuts, "Oh yes, it must be incredibly convenient for you now, discovering that she's immortal and you can run off with her into the Fade after all this is done. You could've made her immortal last time, you know. Why didn't you?"

Fen'harel bites back a growl, pinching the bridge of his nose with a sigh, "Before she gave me my essence from that red future, I did not have that power. I could barely take my true form with the power I had, let alone give the gift of immortality. _He_ sacrificed a great deal of himself to give that to her; far more than I would have been capable of, if I wished to remain alive."

Dorian sits back, steepling his fingers in front of him, "So if you'd had the choice before, you would've done it?"

Fen'harel raises his head, nodding, "Yes, if she had desired it. It is likely that if I had recovered my foci, I would have offered her the choice. But I did not recover it. So, I had to choose another path to-"

His attention is drawn to Lavellan, whose hand has shifted from resting on her stomach to smacking his hip, fingers curling tightly around the hem of his shirt. He takes her hand in his, stroking it gently until her fingers relax.

He looks at Dorian, "I must go. If you are finished interrogating me, that is."

Dorian sighs, waving him on, "Yes, yes. Go, before she runs into some desire demon and decides you've taken entirely too long to bed her."

Fen'harel purses his lips and glares at Dorian, who seems entirely unaffected. He sighs and settles next to Lavellan, casting his sleeping spell over himself, his hand clasped to hers to make joining her simpler.

The scene that unfolds before him as he enters the realm he created is quiet, a corner of the Fade he is very familiar with. He looks around, leaning gently on his staff as he takes it all in. He sends his magic out, searching for his _vhenan'ara's_ path, sensing that she is not long gone from this place. He finds her footsteps in the mud, the taste of her magic leaving a bright trail for him to follow. He smiles and calls his wolf out, darting forward to catch up with her as quickly as he can.

He brushes past a spirit of purpose, letting his aura reach out in greeting and feeling it respond in kind as he passes. He presses on, catching her scent more strongly now, alerting him that he is nearing her current location. He slows his pace when he finally catches sight of her ahead, slightly stunned as he sees the form she has taken. She is a large white wolf, nearly exactly as he once appeared, before his actions changed his form permanently. The only difference he can see from his current distance is that her paws and the tip of her tail bleed into black at the ends. Her tail is currently wagging, largely due to the young man he recognizes from her memories as Cole, who is curiously patting her head.

She must sense him, as she turns to look behind her, eyes locking with his first pair as her mouth opens wide in a panting grin. As he nears her, he notices she is as tall as he is, something he is unused to. He likes it. It looks good on her. He nuzzles her gently in greeting, giving a contented sigh as she returns it eagerly, then turns and nods at Cole, shaking the wolf form from her. He follows her, settling his hand on her lower back softly.

She is the first to speak, "Hello, Cole."

Cole looks at her, the curiosity on his face shining through the mop of hair half covering his eyes. His customary hat is hanging on his back by a thin leather strap around his neck. His eyes flick between Lavellan and Fen'harel, taking the measure of both of them.

"You know me. Not me, another me, a me you've met, a me that is me but not me. You know my name, you know my story you- You know he comes for you. You puzzled the pieces, know the game, seek to quench the flame. You want to help... and you know how."

Fen'harel looks to Lavellan. She is more familiar with Cole, and he seems to be concentrating on her, so he lets her take the lead.

She smiles, "Yes, Cole. I was sent back, but it all has yet to happen in this time. I do want to help, to fix it all, to make it better. Will you help us? I can't do it without you."

Cole narrows his eyes, looking first at her, then at the ground, apparently pondering her words.

She holds her hand out to get his attention, "Here, let me introduce someone else who knows. His name is Fen'harel, but most of the people who are helping call him Solas. That's what we'd prefer you call him, if that's alright."

Cole sighs, his tone impatient, "I know who he is. We all do. You told him? No, he told him. But you held him, holding, caressing, kissing, loving. You love him. You see who he is and you love him still. But you don't trust him..." he pauses, tilting his head as if listening, "He left you before. Angry, tired, hurting; you searched until you broke, and then you saw. You knew. You knew you knew all along, somehow. He burned you, but the knowing made the burns hurt less."

She nods, "Yes, it did. Keep listening, Cole. We sought you out early for a reason."

Cole takes a step closer, reaching out cautiously, letting his hand rest on her shoulder. Surprise shines on his face as he inhales sharply, "You want to hide the truth to save them. To keep the future from changing. You want to help, want to make it work, desperation, determination, driven, driving you to the precipice. You keep them in the dark so they can see the light. It hurts. It all _hurts_. Too much, too bright, too much blood, too much death if you break the pieces apart. I... see."

She purses her lips and swallows, nodding, "Do you understand why they can't know, though? It's not because I want to lie to them."

Cole shakes his head, interrupting as he lets his hand fall to his side, "No, you want to save them, all of them. It's too much to keep to yourself. But you have to. I understand. I want to help."

She smiles and rests her own hand on his shoulder, squeezing gently, "Thank you, Cole. For understanding, and for still wanting to help."

He picks at his hand wraps, his head lowered, "Understanding makes me want to help more. To help you. To help them. I will meet you there. Should I come now? Or should I wait?"

Fen'harel intercedes, "You should keep your original plan, Cole. Appearing any earlier than you normally would might cause complications. It is best to avoid even the possibility that any of us could alter the course of events, until the very end."

Cole nods, "Then I will wait. I'll be there when he comes, but you have to go now, time won't wait."

Lavellan nods, letting her hand return to her side, "You're right. We'll see you soon, Cole."

At this, Cole disappears, tendrils of smoke curling in his wake. Lavellan chuckles, shaking her head. Fen'harel joins her.

"Well, we'd best go. I'll see you on the other side, dread wolf," she winks, then forces herself awake.

He smiles and looks around for a moment, sighing wistfully before he follows.

* * * * *

Coming to is much gentler this time around, compared to her recent experiences. Taking a deep breath and exhaling slowly, she rubs her eyes and slowly sits up, lowering her hands to her lap to blink blearily at her surroundings.

"Well hello deary. Have a good Fade visit?" Dorian sounds both amused and cautiously curious as he greets her.

She looks over at him, smiling and nodding, "Yes, actually. We found Cole. He understands and is willing to help, as well as keep our secret."

Dorian inclines his head in careful approval, "Well that is good news then, yes? Our little spirit friend won't be a giant liability anymore. Hopefully."

She chuckles, "Yes, hopefully. He seemed to get the point, though it is sometimes hard to tell with him. But in this case, I think we're good to go."

Fen'harel stirs beside her, his knee bending and knocking gently into hers. She turns with a bemused smile to peer down at him, leaning on her straightened arm to stretch out her other hand and tenderly stroke his cheek as he begins to wake.

"You are incredibly generous, you know," Dorian intones softly, "to forgive him as you have. I'm not sure I could have done the same in your position. He doesn't deserve it."

She glances at him, a disapproving glare shifting to understanding as her eyes return to Fen'harel's face.

"I love him. He will either earn my trust and yours, or he will prove you correct. Either way, I would rather love him while I can, and give him the chance to show himself worthy."

Dorian sighs, lifting the book he'd abandoned in his lap, his eyes lowering to the pages as he waits for Fen'harel to properly wake, apparently dropping the subject for the moment.

Lavellan smiles broadly as she watches Fen'harel's eyes slide open, blinking slowly; unfocused for an instant before they drift over her face.

He smiles sleepily, " _Aneth ara, ma uth'lath. Em then'eth in na'latha; em elgar'nuvenin sulena vir'nehn_."

She curls her fingers in his hair, then grins and leans down, pressing a kiss to his lips and nuzzling his nose with hers, giggling.

" _Ar lath ma, vhenan_. But perhaps we should speak the common tongue, considering our present company," she nods her head at Dorian's seated form with an amused smirk tugging the corner of her mouth up.

He blinks, turning his head to see who she indicated, a slight blush gracing his ear tips, "Oh. Apologies, Dorian. The Fade was clinging to my mind more strongly than I realized."

Dorian shrugs, not bothering to lower his obviously fascinating book, "Oh, don't mind me, I'm just reading, over here... in my house. With two sickeningly sweet elves canoodling on my floor."

As he finishes his diatribe, he glowers down at them both over the top of his book, shaking his head.

Lavellan blushes, "Sorry, Dorian. Thank you for watching over us. It is appreciated."

Dorian raises one hand to wave lackadaisically at them both, "It was no trouble, dear."

He stands abruptly, setting his book aside, "Now then, I assume you'll want me there for closing the Breach? You'll need all the power you can get, I'll wager."

She nods and hefts herself up, standing and offering her hand to Fen'harel, "Yes, your presence would be a great asset, if you are willing."

Dorian scoffs, "Of course I'm willing. I can't let you take all the credit, after all."

He winks and grins, waiting as Fen'harel stands with Lavellan's help, then moves to the door, "Shall we proceed?"

Lavellan looks at Fen'harel, "We should probably get you to your house in wolf form to avoid Leliana's eyes. I can always claim I left the spirit in your care, as you're the resident Fade expert."

Fen'harel nods, "That is likely wise."

Dorian quirks his head to the side, "Spirit? Is that what you're claiming the wolf is? How very clever. It's a good cover, really."

Lavellan smiles, "We thought so too. It's the only thing that makes sense. He's a spirit of peace that was drawn to our cause and took the form of a wolf to aide us. It is fitting, considering elvhen history is riddled with tales of warriors with wolf companions."

Surprise lights on Dorian's face, "Fitting indeed! Quite convenient for your little ruse."

Fen'harel gives a small bow toward Dorian, "Thank you for your help, Dorian. I will see you again in a moment."

He falls forward, landing on his paws, looking up at Lavellan expectantly.

She nods, taking a breath as she moves through the door after Dorian opens it.

Dorian follows them closely over to Fen'harel's house and stations himself just to the side of the door, crossing his arms, "I'll wait here, but don't take too long in there. The hole in the sky isn't going to wait much longer."

"Of course. We'll be right out," she responds, smiling.

She opens the door, letting Fen'harel through and closing it behind them, casting her eyes about the room to make sure the shutters are closed. Before she can turn to let him know that it's safe, she feels his arms encircling her from behind. She jumps a little in surprise, then chuckles at herself, letting her head fall back to his shoulder and planting a kiss on his jaw. Her arms hug his to her body snugly, and she closes her eyes, nuzzling into his neck with a sigh. She needs this moment of peace more than she'd realized. He seems to understand this, his silence as he simply holds her a comfortable one.

But it cannot last. She soon straightens and turns in his arms, hands curling behind his neck to pull him gently down for a kiss, fingers carding into his hair as she steals a few more precious seconds alone with him before facing the storm.

It is not enough.

It will never be enough.

She breaks the kiss gently, pressing her forehead to his and taking a deep breath, slowly letting it out and leaning back, nodding resolutely. She is ready.

He steals one last chaste kiss from her, hand cupping her cheek as he smiles at her, love shining in his eyes. His hand slides down to hers, taking it and pulling her slowly to the door, tugging it open and leading the way outside.

It is time.

Dorian nods at her, "You two lovebirds ready?"

She gives her own nod, "Yes. Let's get this done before I change my mind."

Dorian chuckles, "Change your mind? Sadly, I don't think you have that option, my dear. Terrible thing, not having options. Makes one feel rather confined. I detest it, personally."

She smirks, "I don't blame you. Let's go rouse the troops."

They make their way to the Chantry, heading to the war room swiftly. Their path is set, no turning back now.

A few sideways glances and stray comments result from Fen'harel growing his hair out, but once it is explained that he'd used magic to grow it out at her request, that seems to end the speculation. Cullen has been true to his word, promptly informing Lavellan's advisors about the spirit wolf; an informal greeting time is set for after the sealing of the Breach to meet the 'spirit'.

With these formalities out of the way, Lavellan stabs a dagger through Haven's location on the war map, announcing her readiness to commence the assault on the Breach.

She gathers the needed personnel and notifies Fiona, setting off the moment she calls forth her selections. The afternoon sun wanes low in the sky, indicating an early evening departure. Right on time.

As they arrive, Lavellan looks up at the swirling green nightmare in the sky with resolute determination. At least this time, she knows it will work. Fiona has chosen the same small army of mages she did last time, and Dorian, Vivienne, and Fen'harel are all in attendance to lend their power to the cause.

She looks behind her, checking that everyone is ready to proceed. Satisfied, she turns, lifting her marked hand to the rift and channeling her mana into the anchor, which sputters petulantly as Fen'harel shouts instructions to Fiona's mages. The first cry of effort sounds behind her, more following on swift wings as she feels immense power pour through her; an overabundance of mana that floods her senses, bringing her night in Arlathan sharply to mind. She pushes the memory away, concentrating on her task. The anchor is finally cooperating, spewing a steady stream of energy at the rift above her, and she can feel the tear giving way gradually, just as before.

Suddenly, a massive surge of energy pulses through her, and she recognizes the magic easily. Fen'harel has brought his mana to bear. The beam emitting from her hand strengthens, overpowering the rift with ease.

The shockwave of the rift closing and mending the Breach knocks them all back, suffering them to clumsily recover; dazed but unharmed. Lavellan is kneeling, heart beating a rapid tempo inside her chest. She looks up, seeing the scar that will always remain in the sky, grinning in victory.

  
[Fen'da'len Lavellan (Ignore the vallaslin, please.)]

Cassandra grips her shoulder, her expression stunned but jubilant, "You did it!"

Lavellan stands and turns her grin on Cassandra, nodding in agreement, "It's finally done," she looks to the rest of the company gathered, raising her voice, "The Breach is sealed!"

Cheers and shouts of joy meet her proclamation, all gathered raising their fists in glee.

Lavellan looks to Fen'harel, who is quietly leaning against his staff, his smile bright and pride in his eyes.

The small mob begins to slowly disperse, starting the short trek back to Haven. Finally, all that are left behind are Dorian, Lavellan, and Fen'harel.

Dorian is the first to speak, "So, what now, Fen'da'len?"

She blinks in surprise, "You said my name correctly. Most _shemlen_ can't pronounce elvhen names to save their lives."

Dorian's smile is smug as he responds, "Well I'm hardly 'most _shemlen_ ,' am I? In any case, you didn't answer my question. What comes now?"

She sighs. "Corypheus. He attacks Haven with an army of templars that have been force-fed red lyrium. Remember the monstrosity that tried to cleave my head off in that horrible future?" she waits for his nod before continuing, "There will be quite a few of them in that army. We've a few hours to spare, but it's not much of a reprieve. Many will die tonight."

Dorian's jaw clenches and relaxes, his expression grim. "Well that's a lovely thought. I suppose I should pack lightly in preparation, then."

She nods. "Yes, I will be doing the same. My robe has many pockets, all of them will be filled. Bringing a pack would be too conspicuous since I don't normally wear one. Keep that in mind for yourself."

"Indeed I will, that's a good point. I'll pack some extra lyrium potions as well. Any instructions besides that?"

Lavellan chews her lip in thought, glancing at Fen'harel for but a moment before replying, "When I tell you to run, do it. Don't look back, don't wait. Just run to the Chantry and flee with the others," she gives Fen'harel a hard look, "this goes for both of you."

Fen'harel gives a short, terse nod.

Dorian creases his eyebrows. "What of you? I imagine you have some sort of plan for escape?"

She sighs. "There's a tunnel under Haven that leads to the forest behind the mountain. Don't worry about me, I'll make it to where you will be camped."

Fen'harel smirks. "With my guidance, yes, you will."

She raises an eyebrow. "That was you? I thought it might have been. Nobody else could influence wolves like you can."

He nods. "Yes, but I will be joining them this time. I will not wait for you to freeze in that valley."

She chuckles. "My toes and fingers thank you. But I will be more prepared this time, at least. Hopefully I can mitigate some of the cold better than I did before."

The sun beginning to dip below the mountains catches her attention. "Well, we should get back to Haven. We only have a couple of hours before the attack; I'd like to enjoy them."

Dorian gives a soft smile. "Good plan. I have a bottle of Vint-1 calling my name."

Lavellan laughs. "Now don't down the whole thing in one go, Dorian. I need you conscious for this, you know."

Dorian shakes his head with a roguish grin. "My dear, I will not only be conscious, but coherent. Consider yourself honored; it is a luxury I grace very few people with."

She chuckles and sighs, heading up the ramp with Fen'harel at her side, Dorian heading up their small group.

Their walk back to Haven is blissfully quiet; the silence only interrupted by the shuffling of Dorian's boots and the occasional twittering of songbirds nestled within the trees they pass. Lavellan and Fen'harel walk hand in hand, mutual enjoyment of the calm before the storm passing between them, unspoken.

Her thoughts turn to the quiet space in her mind where Fen'harel's essence had once settled, missing his presence there. While she is glad not to be in danger anymore, the feeling of emptiness - made worse by her memory of Arlathan's magic - is a persistent, niggling influence on her mind.

For now, it matters little. Much larger game is headed to her doorstep, and she brushes the concerns away before they can take root too deeply. The voices from the Well seem to approve of this move.

Almost as if he's heard them in her head, Fen'harel speaks up, "Do the voices of the _Vir'abelasan_ still remain, despite your displacement in time?"

She frowns slightly, nodding. "Yes, though I believe my connection to Mythal might have been severed. If so, I am not sure if that was due to you taking her essence, or to the journey back. But the voices do still speak, imparting wisdom, translations, and occasionally objecting to my more rash actions."

He chuckles. "I imagine they had quite a lot to say when you suddenly became my vessel. Ancient powers do not generally appreciate sharing hosts."

She shakes her head. "Actually, they didn't seem to mind that. They objected more when I ran off hunting on my own. The loudest objection came from me turning into your wolf. Half of the struggle was fighting them back."

He purses his lips in a disapproving look. "I can believe it. You are fortunate that you relented when you did. That kind of power is not meant for anyone who is not born with it."

"Not surprising." She shrugs.

He stops, tugging her gently to a halt as well as he turns to her. "I must ask, if I had not accepted your proposal, what would you have done?"

She purses her lips, brows drawn together in a frown as she considers his question. "I... don't know. It was a reckless gambit to begin with, one I didn't exactly think through. It's likely I would've persisted, though for how much longer, I couldn't say."

His brows raise in alarm. " _Vhenan_ , you were near death when you finally relented. If you had persisted, I am unsure if I could have brought you back. It is doubtful."

She smirks, "Then it is good you agreed when you did, is it not?"

"Out of _desperation_ , to keep you alive, yes. That is not the way to win arguments and live a long life, _ma sa'lath_. What if you had died? This world needs you as much as I do."

She smiles, bringing their joined hands up to brush her lips over his knuckles, "You worry too much, _ma nehn_. I am here, alive and well, no harm done. I will do what must be done, and we will both move forward with our long lives after it is finished. Is that not enough to satisfy you?"

He regards her carefully, eyes tightened, brow pinched, jaw working agitatedly. He takes a step towards her and lifts his free hand to her cheek, staring into her eyes as if he could seek out the depths of her soul through them, and root out what she is thinking. His face crumples into anguished resignation as he leans forward and rests his brow, gently but firmly, against hers.

"There are moments, such as these, when you truly frighten me, _ma uth'lath_. I wonder at the lengths you will go to see this mission of ours through, and it shakes me to the core," he leans back to look at her, seemingly searching for something in her features.

She lifts her hand to encircle his wrist, his still cupping her cheek as his thumb strokes feather-soft trails just beneath her eye. She wonders what he is searching for; he doesn't seem to be finding it.

"If your core is shaken, _vhenan_ , then perhaps it needs more steadfast holdings. I will do what is necessary, no more, no less. I did not die last time, and I have no intentions of changing that fate," her hand slides up to cover his, pressing it to her face, "I have more reason than ever, now, to live."

At last, his search appears over. His very soul seems to relax; his aura, tight and tangled moments before, calms and returns to the deep pool of certainty she is accustomed to. She smiles and presses her lips to his gently, lingering for but a moment before she pulls away. She takes his hand from her face and squeezes it gently, brushing her lips over his knuckles once more before lowering their joined hands between them, never ceasing her hold on him. She turns to their path, noting that Dorian has long outstripped them, leaving them to their momentary diversions in favor of his small, warm house and alcohol-fueled preparations.

Fen'harel keeps pace with her easily, regardless of her now quickened steps. There is precious little time to prepare, and she wants to be as ready as possible. The town smithy comes into view, Blackwall standing beside the door as he quietly gazes up at the tear where the breach had swirled its angry storm in the sky mere minutes before. So consumed is he by the sight that he doesn't notice them pass; something she is grateful for. Not that she doesn't care for his company, but she _is_ in a hurry. There will be time for chatting once they reach _Tarasyl'an Te'las._

Their feet carry them past Bull and Krem, then through the town gates swiftly, Lavellan leading the charge to her house. She swings the door open and closes it as soon as Fen'harel is through it, only now releasing his hand in favor of filling them with various small items and potions as she carefully tucks them away in her robes. She looks to him and sighs as she finishes.

"That's as much as I can carry without a pack. Or, without being too obvious, I suppose," she smirks as she pats her various pockets, some of which clink and jingle with her jostling.

He nods, shrugging his pack off and slinging it onto her bed, "I can carry what you cannot, then. Hand me what you need."

Her brow narrows as she regards him from next to her supply cache by the door, "But don't you have things of your own to bring with you? You need room for your own belongings and potions if I'm not mistaken."

She can hear his smile in his voice, "No, little wolf. How many things do you imagine I carried with me before I came to the Inquisition? I woke with very little aside from my foci, and that was already in Corypheus' grasp at the time. What I have now is only what I have managed to salvage along the way; which, all told, is very little. I have more than enough room for a few items, and plenty of strength to carry them for you. Your burdens are now mine."

She snorts as she turns and squats next to the potion crate to hide her expression, fingers pausing on the worn edge of the crate, "I'm not sure how I feel about burdening the god of rebellion."

Suddenly he's beside her, and she feels the weight of the fold he's manipulated in the veil to step through the Fade to her side. He grasps her chin firmly, urging her to look at him with his touch, his eyes boring into her with ardent determination.

"Fen'da'len, look at me, please."

When she complies, he releases her chin to cup her cheek, "No weight is heavier than knowing you could be stolen from me at any moment. If it means I may keep you here, alive, I will gladly carry you and the world on my shoulders. No burden is too great for your presence at my side, _ma uth'lath_."

Her heart soars to hear these words, but to see them reflected truthfully in his eyes is what has her crashing her lips to his, arms flung around his neck as she brazenly takes what she wishes from his mouth. She pours her love and passion into her magic, reaching out to sift through and surround him with it, the sudden onslaught making him gasp with the power of it. She wastes no time in deepening the kiss with the opportunity he's so graciously provided, only marginally slaking her thirst for him in this moment with her tongue tangling against his in a ravenous dance of hunger.

His arms encircle her, tightly pulling her to him as they both slide to their knees to leave no space between them, shutting out the world in preference of this shared moment of closeness and solace - the still center of the maelstrom. They cling to each other, each selfish grasp and sigh signaling their desperation for the moment to go on, unending.

But it must end.

A tear slides down her cheek as the kiss slowly finishes. He presses his brow to hers as they catch their breaths, his eyes closed tightly as he reins himself in. He lifts his lips to her brow, lingering there for several seconds, then gently leaning back to look at her with a lovingly fond smile.

"It seems I do not need to teach you that magic, after all, little wolf. You have learned it all on your own. You continue to surprise me," he strokes his thumb over her cheek, drying the path of her tear.

She gives a somewhat choked laugh, her voice small and strained, "I had a good teacher."

His smile broadens, "And you always will, _ma vhenan_. I will teach you everything I know that is safe for you to cast. You will never want for any magic, ancient or modern."

At this, her gaze falls, knowing that if this were to really be true, it would mean restoring the magic that existed in ancient times, before he made the veil. She is still unsure what to think about this possible future. Trying to hide her conflicted expression, she nuzzles into his throat, leaving a kiss on the dip between his collarbones. " _Ma serannas, ma uth'lath_. I shall endeavor to be a good student."

He leans back and cups her chin in his hand, tilting her head up gently to bring her gaze to his, "Something troubles you, little wolf. Do not think I did not notice. What is it?"

A soft blush shades the tips of her ears at being caught, though her face betrays no shame, "My troubles can wait, dread wolf. Corypheus and his army will not."

Annoyance graces his lips as they draw into a thin line, but he nods sharply, returning his hand to her side, "After, then. I will not forget; I will have your answer on the way to _Tarasyl'an Te'las._ Count on it."

A small smirk forms on her face, "It is yours, isn't it?"

He raises an eyebrow in confusion, "What is?"

The smirk widens into a small grin, " _Tarasyl'an Te'las."_

Now both brows raise in surprise, "And what path did you follow to reach this conclusion? Neither I, nor my red lyrium self told you anything of the sort."

She chuckles, "The very name of it _. '_ The place where the sky was held back'. An apt name for the place the veil was created, wouldn't you say? You knew where it was, and freely offered it; as if you owned it. All of that, combined with your willingness to leave what ignorant minds might label as graffiti on the walls of such an ancient place is fairly obvious evidence, _vhenan_. Not to mention that the anchor is never more calm than when I am there. Your magic has settled deeply into the foundations of that fortress. I realized this not long after I found out who you are."

"That," he pauses, composing himself, "is quite an astute set of observations, little wolf. If you continue in such a fashion, I will soon have very few secrets left indeed."

She gives a sardonic huff of a laugh, "I would say 'good', but that will never be the case. You have lived far too long and have too much history for me to ever learn all of your secrets, _ma uth'lath_. Even if I now have the time to learn them, you would not tell them to me. It is not in your nature. I will only learn that which I deduce on my own, no doubt."

He seems pained at her words, almost offended, "And this nature you believe I possess, is it drawn from your personal experience with me, or from what your keeper taught you to believe?"

"Both," she answers without hesitation, "Though I freely admit you have been slightly more open today than ever before, there is every possibility that it is as much of an affectation as Solas was. Especially given what happened before."

She feels his fingers tighten into the fabric of her robe at her sides. She sees his jaw tightening as his eyes close, his nose flaring with a breath slowly and deeply inhaled, then exhaled. As his eyes open, they are steely and as cold as his iciest spell, "You imagine that I would declare undying love and allegiance to you, then lie to you once more, _knowing_ that you hold my heart and my greatest secret in your hands? That you could easily crush one and spill the other, should you decide to do so? What kind of fool do you take me for, little wolf?"

She shakes her head, "Not a fool, Fen'harel. Never a fool. But burns do not heal easily, even with the strongest of magics; even with the strongest of wills. The kind of fire that sears flesh from bone on contact, the kind of fire that blackens the heart and soul with the very whisper of it? That is the fire you burned me with. It will take time to heal - time for me to trust. I have forgiven, but not forgotten. In time, I may do both. But that time is not now."

He sinks back on his heels, releasing his grip on her robe to lay his hands on his lap, hers mirroring his as she retreats in kind. He is crestfallen, avoiding her eyes as he asks, "If that is how you feel, should I then expect not to join you on the field of battle? Surely you would not take along someone you cannot trust at your back."

Her eyes widen and her brow furrows as she hears this. She reaches out to cradle his jaw in her palm, guiding him to meet her eyes with his. He stubbornly refuses, the hurt in his eyes painfully evident.

" _Su an'banal i'ma_ , Fen'harel. _Look at me!_ "

He does, grudgingly, using annoyance to mask his pain to a point.

"I will trust you at my back because it is one of the many ways that you can prove yourself worthy of trust. I will trust you at my back because I would never leave such a strong fighter at base when there are enemies bracing to storm my very doorstep. I will trust you at my back because I still love you with everything that I am, no matter how badly I am burned. I will trust you at my back on a battlefield because you have never given me reason not to trust you there. It is elsewhere that you do not have my trust, _vhenan_. I am filled with sorrow that this is the case, but it is what it is. For now." She lowers her hand to take his gently, grasping it in both her hands and tracing soft circles on his skin.

His voice is full of regret as he quietly replies, " _Na har'din banalas'ma, ma uth'lath_."

He continues, "I will do whatever possible to earn back what I have destroyed, and to soothe your burns as best I can. If you wish anything from me, I will do everything in my power to give it to you."

A fragile smile pulls at her lips. She tilts her head slightly as she responds, "At the moment, I only wish for you to keep your oath to me, and to yourself. That alone will go a long way in repairing the charred landscape between us. The truth will free us both to love and trust each other as we each deserve. It... won't be an easy path to tread, but it is the most direct route to our desired destination."

He gives a slow nod in place of a bow, " _Ma nuvenin, da'fen_."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> By the by, if any of you are interested, here's my info:  
> Skype: shannaleia  
> Tumblr: [Actually-Fen-Harel](http://actually-fen-harel.tumblr.com/)  
> Twitter: [Actually_Fen_Harel](https://twitter.com/Spyke1985)  
> DeviantArt: [ActuallyFenHarel](http://actuallyfenharel.deviantart.com/)
> 
> I'm on Skype 24/7, unless I'm asleep, or not at home.
> 
> Want my book? Get it here: [The Enemy In Me](http://www.amazon.com/dp/B00QZ5AI1K)
> 
> Thanks for reading! If you enjoy the story, or this chapter in particular, please feel free to leave a review with your thoughts! I love reading comments, and reply to all of them. <3


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Author's note: I would like to state for the record that I subscribe to the headcanon that elvhen ears can and do move and can be indicative of their owner's emotions at the time. I also strongly subscribe to the thought that they are extremely sensitive, and indeed an erogenous zone. I haven't had much real opportunity to employ either headcanon until this point, but I will be from now on. Just letting you all know, so you don't look at what you're reading and think, 'Where the hell did this come from all of a sudden?' Now you know. Feel free to ignore or use it yourself, ma nuvenin. :)
> 
> * * *
> 
> As always, hover text translation is provided for the less-often used, or more complex elvish. Just hover your mouse cursor over the text, and there you are; translation. :)

 

She smiles softly, pulling him with her as she stands, "Come, we still have some time before Corypheus arrives for everyone to meet my wolf companion. If you wish to accompany me to the battle tonight, it should be in that form, to keep Corypheus from recognizing you. Let's go to your house and retrieve _Atisha_."

A smile quirks on his lips, "That is what you wish to call him? It would be appropriate, I suppose, to name him thus."

She chuckles, "It would indeed. Having him along would allow more flexibility in my choices for party members as well, given our current resources."

He opens the door and holds it for her as she passes, following and quietly shutting it behind him, "That much is true. I have often wondered why you only take three companions with you on your journeys; especially when some missions would be better suited for a larger group."

She takes a breath of the cooling evening air, looking up at the full, red moon as she considers his comment, "I am not the Inquisitor. Not yet, at least. The way Cassandra and several others speak at times, it seems likely that will change," she slips a sidelong smile at him, a secret thing between them alone, "And if it does, I likely will bring more companions with me at once. For now, it's simply not appropriate."

He keeps stride with her, "How is it not appropriate? You are their Herald; I am certain they would afford you any personnel you should desire, if you merely asked."

She shrugs, "Perhaps they would, but I do not wish to take advantage of a title that I had no desire for in the first place. If they do name me Inquisitor, it will be because I have earned it, not because it has been bestowed upon me by some nebulously holy power. If that time comes, I will have earned the right to conserve more resources for my own uses on missions. Until such a time comes, I am more than content with my lot."

He nods, "I can see the wisdom in that choice," he opens his door as they reach it, holding it open for her once more with a sly smile, "though I am glad I will be accompanying you as a fourth tonight, regardless of that wisdom."

She grins as she steps in behind him, closing the door herself as she reaches for him. She folds her arms around him and nuzzles into his shirt, molding her body against his gently, "Be careful out there tonight, _ma sa'lath_. I don't know how much magic they will accept you using in that form, but don't risk yourself needlessly. I couldn't bear it if you didn't escape with the others."

He envelops her in his arms, pressing a kiss to the crown of her head, then replacing his lips with his cheek as he rests it on her, "I will use the same powers that I have available to me in my true form, _da'fen_. It is all Fade magic, so it will be quite acceptable to the form of _Atisha_. I will not be in any danger. Worry not for me, but for yourself, _ma uth'lath_."

She leans back, loosening her embrace slightly as she shifts to look up at him, "I will always worry, _vhenan_. For me, for you, for everyone. It's against my nature to just _not_ worry. You know this."

He smiles, leaning down to capture her lips briefly, then murmuring against them, "I know, _ma lath_ ," he moves back a few inches to look at her, his eyes sliding over her features lovingly as he continues, "You worry enough for the entire world. It is one of the reasons you will be Inquisitor. You care about everyone, too deeply, some might say."

Her brow furrows, "Who might say that? I'll be happy to correct them with a stone fist to the face."

He laughs, joy sparking in his eyes, "I firmly believe you would, _da'fen_ , and I would love to see it someday. To answer your question, I believe many of my kin would think you care too deeply for the fate of this world. The ones I speak of certainly cared little for it, in the end. I do sometimes wonder what they would have thought of you, especially as you are now."

She raises a single brow in amusement, "Oh, you mean, now that I'm a true elvhen, ageless as I would have been in Elvhenan?"

He shakes his head, "No, _sa'lath_ , I mean your spirit. You are changed now, different than you were in your past experience of these events; far beyond what changes were made by the lengthening of your life. I think it likely that what they would now see would make them wish to give you a rebirth, to bring you to their side as their kin. You could bring a much-needed new perspective to their ranks; one I believe they might welcome."

She stares at him, eyes wide, too stunned to speak. The persistent niggling feeling from the void of his red lyrium self suddenly flares into a deafening howl of triumph. Even the voices from the Well cannot drown it out, though they are trying to.

She shakes her head sharply, trying to rid herself of the cacophony clouding her mind, her eyes closing tightly as her fingers rise to her temples to rub circles into them, trying to ease the rising ache in her head. Somewhere in the periphery of her existence she can sense Fen'harel's immediate concern for her, but she can't concentrate on it well enough to understand what he's saying or doing. She feels a warmth spread over her face and as suddenly as the howling and pain began, it ends.

She snaps her eyes open, only to close them against the glowing magic pouring from his hands into her skin. She gradually slides her lids open as her eyes adjust to the light, looking past the magic to see the worry written in the lines of his face, the concentration and effort he's pouring into the spell.

Her voice is weaker than she thinks it should be as she asks, " _Ma lath?_ "

His spell dissipates, his hands framing her face with profound gentleness as relief trickles in to intermingle with the worry on his features, "Are you well, _vhenan_? You frightened me for a moment, is everything alright?"

She slowly becomes aware that she is laying down on his bed. He is perched on the edge of it, looming over her as if he were a healer caring for a sick patient. She brings her hand up to rub her eyes, sighing in relief, then looking at him and nodding, "I am now. I don't... I'm not entirely sure what happened. It's hard to explain."

His already pinched brow furrows more tightly, his lips pressed into a thin line of concern, "Try, if you are able. I would prefer to know what ails you, in case I have to treat it again."

She sighs, unsure of how to describe what she'd felt. _'Absence of divinity,'_ the voices of the Well helpfully provide. She snorts, the irony far from lost on her, considering what Fen'harel had been telling her.

He sweeps a stray lock of hair off of her brow as she takes a breath to reply, "After your... other self left, I kept getting this feeling of emptiness. The Well is oh, so helpfully saying that it is the absence of divinity," she shakes her head, "In any case, after you told me that the pantheon might want to take me in as their kin, that feeling just... I don't know. Exploded. I couldn't hear or feel anything but it howling in what felt like victory, or elation. It's hard to explain. I've never experienced anything like it."

He tilts his head at the news, regarding her with curious concern, "That is as fascinating as it is worrying. You seemed to be in pain, then you collapsed. I brought you to the bed and tried to soothe what I could, though I am unsure if it helped."

She nods, "It did. There _was_ pain, a lot of it. The warmth from your spell was what made it all go away. I'm not sure how long it would've taken it to calm down without it."

He sighs, finally releasing his gentle hold on her face to reach for her hand, bringing it to his lap and stroking it softly, "You were completely unaware of your surroundings; even when I spoke to you before you fell, there was no response. Was it truly so overwhelming?"

"Yes. I could sense that you were doing or saying something, but I couldn't think past the sound and the pain to focus on it. It was all-consuming."

He sighs, looking down at her hand as if studying it. Belatedly, she realizes that it is the hand her anchor is in, though he isn't looking at her palm. His mind seems to be far away as he speaks, "You bear my magic in your hand, you are my vessel, and your soul recognizes its right to divinity- even cries out in indignation at the absence of it. How I missed all of this before, I will likely never understand. I knew there was something different about you, _da'fen_ , but I should have seen it long before this."

Confusion twists her brows as she looks up at him, "Seen what, Fen'harel? I spoke the truth in that clearing; I really am just an elf with peculiar tastes. Marked I may be, but there's truly nothing special about me, beyond that. I'm sure many could serve as your vessel, I probably just had that vaunted strength of will you keep going on about to help me bear it as long as I did. And are you going to tell me why you're grinning like a madman, or am I left to guessing?"

He chuckles, lifting one hand to cup her cheek as he shakes his head, still grinning, "You are amazing. Humble, protective, caring, fated, marked, beautiful and _amazing_."

She blinks rapidly, her face flushing at the flow of confusing compliments, "Are you going to explain any of that, or am I still left to guessing?"

He laughs and leans down to kiss her brow, backing off to gaze down at her in open adoration, "Humble, because you see yourself as ordinary, despite the mass of evidence to the contrary. Protective as any wolf is of her pack, which in your case, seems to encompass the entire world. Caring of every single person you ever meet, granting every favor asked, completing every mission, fulfilling every need. Fated to be far greater than you ever imagined. Marked by my magic to become the perfect compliment to my powers. Beautiful because you _are_ , more than you know. Amazing because you are every one of these things and more, and I am humbled and transfixed by all of it."

Her heart feels like it has beat its way into her throat and lodged there permanently, so rather than attempt words that would only be strangled, she reaches up and pulls him down to her, sliding her fingers into his hair to grip it at the base of his skull as she assaults his lips with hers. She holds him there, though he seems more than willing to be her prisoner as he growls a moan that she swallows, then returns as he slides a finger gently up and down the top edge of her ear, teasing her mercilessly.

His teeth capture her bottom lip as he brings his other hand up to join its twin, employing it in the exact same manner on her opposite ear, making her squirm under him as her libido races to keep time with her heartbeat. He ends the last upward trek of his fingers with a soft pinch to the tips of her ears as his teeth slide off of her lip, the combined sensations making her gasp a small, plaintive sound. He brushes his lips along her throat, then comes to rest with his brow upon her chest as he takes a steadying breath.

Her breaths are panting out of her at a rapid pace, her fingers still tangled in his locks; though her grip is weakened now. His hands have come to rest at the sides of her neck, and he cannot possibly have missed the wild thrumming of her pulse there. He lifts his head from her chest and gives a dark chuckle, shaking his head and smiling as he kisses her once more, sweeping one hand up over her brow as the thumb of his other hand feathers over her pulse point.

"I can hear your heart beating its way out of its cage, _ma lath_. Perhaps you should let it out before it breaks out."

She half-growls, half-groans in response, " _You_. It's _you_ that does this to me. Is it any wonder that my heart tries to break me when you torture me so?"

"Torture?" he asks, his voice practically purring as he does, "If what I do to you is torture, then you should show me what you would prefer."

She glares at him, then sits up, tucking her feet under her and rising to her knees, tightening her grasp on his hair and jerking him to the side as she leans in next to his ear and growls. She flicks her tongue out to bring his earlobe into her mouth, suckling, then nibbling on the edge as she releases it when she starts to hear him growling in response.

"It is torture," she pauses, dragging her teeth gently along the top edge of his ear until she feels him shiver, "that I never wish to end."

She nips the tip of his ear, a breath shuddering out from his lips her reward, and she releases him, easing back on her heels to look at him with a sly smile, hands in her lap.

His fists are balled tightly into the bed cover, knuckles white with effort. His eyes glare at her as if she is the source of all evil, his short breaths hissing through clenched teeth. She lets her gaze drift down to his breeches, the front tail of his shirt the only saving grace that somewhat covers the erection so obviously tenting the fabric. Her eyes return to his, her smile turning smug as she leans back and brings her knees up, hugging them loosely to her chest.

She really shouldn't tease him. But she simply cannot resist, not after an entire year of him teasing her in a similar fashion, "Problem, _vhenan_?"

His eyes narrow even further, his jaw flexing and his ears lowering and drawing back as an angry growl escapes him.

She hums as she pretends to consider the situation, "Hmm, I would help you with that," her gaze flicks down to his bulge, then back up, "but I'm not sure I like that tone. Also, there isn't time, sadly."

That, at least, seems to register with him. He closes his eyes and centers himself, taking several deep breaths as he slowly eases his death grip on the cover, his jaw beginning to relax. His ears remain lowered, but they finally move away from their taut, tense position against his skull. None of this does anything for his still painfully obvious erection, but he does seem calmer overall, at least. With a final, somewhat defeated-sounding sigh, he slouches, looking down at himself with annoyance. He includes her in his annoyance with a sidelong glare, followed quickly by an eye roll and a frustrated sigh.

She chuckles and slides off the bed, leaving a kiss on his cheek on her way up, " _Emma abelas, vhenan_. Do you need a moment to yourself? It'll have to be quick if you do."

He utters one final sigh as he shakes his head, his voice slightly strained as he speaks, "No. The fur will hide it, mostly. And changing will diminish it. Hopefully, at least."

She bites her lip to force the smile off her face and keep herself from laughing as the image of him giving up and humping her leg as a wolf comes unbidden to her mind. The thought that she'd _deserve_ such an embarrassment at this point is the only thing saving her from bursting into laughter, despite her efforts.

He casts his spell and turns into the wolf she is so familiar with, easing off the bed and settling in front of her with a huff. She leans to the side for a look, which he huffs again at, fidgeting from one foot to another under her scrutiny.

"It's... not _too_ obvious, anyway," she concludes, grimacing slightly. It isn't as bad as it could've been, but it's still visible. A plaintive whine alerts her to his discomfort, and she realizes she's staring, perhaps a bit too hard.

She clears her throat and turns to the door, flushing in embarrassment, "Right, I uh... right."

Taking a deep breath, she reaches for the door and swings it open, the cool night air calming the blazing heat on her cheeks and ears slightly. She notices she doesn't feel the chill as much as she used to, still feeling perfectly comfortable in her light armor, despite the fresh snow that wets her foot wraps. Perhaps it is a side effect of the magic that restored her immortality? She cannot help but wonder at it, though she keeps her thoughts to herself for now. Fen'harel had never seem discomforted by temperature extremes either, so perhaps it did have to do with that ancient magic. She tucks it away in the list of questions she will eventually ask him, when there is time to breathe.

The Chantry is warm, and the soft candlelight reflecting off of the time-darkened wood seems to add to the welcoming warmth of the place. Her toes dig into the carpets as she walks toward the small gathering of her advisors and a few of her companions near the war room. Blackwall and Varric are there, as is Sera. She hovers behind Cassandra, who rolls her eyes at the girl's obvious nervousness, but puts up with it anyway. She does understand it, even if she doesn't particularly share it. Josie, Leliana, and Cullen are all in attendance, as expected.

A quick glance confirms that Fen'harel's fur is now hiding whatever is left of his _issue_ , at which Lavellan breathes a silent sigh of relief.

She approaches the gathering with confidence now, giving them a smile and nod of greeting, "Well hello, I didn't expect this many to show up."

Varric is the first to reply, happy to tell a tale when he can, "Curly ran into me on the way to tell Ruffles, and he filled me in, so I told everyone else. I let Tiny know, but at the mention of the wolf being a spirit he declined in no uncertain terms. He's jumpier than Buttercup over here. And of course, The Iron Lady outright refused on the basis that," he raises his fingers to air quote, "'Mages should not associate with demons, even ones that are supposedly allies'. She also wasn't too hot on the idea that you'd adopted it in the first place. Sparkles was halfway into a bottle of Vint-1, and I couldn't find Chuckles. Must've run off to dream in some corner or something. So, everyone you see here is everyone that was willing and able."

She nods, giving them all smile, "Well thank you all for coming, then, and thank you for letting everyone know, Varric."

"My pleasure. I admit, I'm more than a little curious myself. I'm guessing this is it?" he asks, gesturing to Fen'harel, who sits quietly at her side.

"Yes, this is Atisha. Everyone, Atisha; Atisha, everyone. Well, mostly. We're missing a few members, as you heard, but..." she introduces them all by their proper names, Fen'harel nodding at each one, "And of course, you've already met Commander Cullen."

Fen'harel adds a wag to this particular nod, giving a panting smile as he relaxes.

Cullen chuckles, reaching out to let 'Atisha' smell him once more, then petting his head gently, "It's friendlier than I would've thought, if I'm honest."

Lavellan smiles, "Well, it _is_ a spirit of peace, after all. If it wasn't friendly, I would say there was something wrong."

Sera peers out from behind Cass' shield at Fen'harel, her eyes narrowed as she cautiously asks, "So wot's 'e do, other 'n be a big, fluffy, wolfy thing? I mean 'e's a magical spirit... thingy, right? So's 'e got any special.. I dunno, powers or somethin'?"

Lavellan smirks, "You realize it can hear and understand you when you speak, Sera, right? Just because it can't speak back in this form doesn't mean it can't hear you."

Sera shudders, shrinking slightly more behind Cass' shield than she already was, "I ain't talkin' to that thing! I'm not gonna get taken over by some spirit... thing. You talk to it. I's your _thing_ anyway, not mine."

Cass intervenes with reason and calm, "Though I cannot believe I am saying this, I must agree with Sera's curiosity. What can this spirit do, besides bite and claw? Are there any magical abilities to look out for?"

Lavellan sighs and raises an eyebrow at her furred companion, who looks at her and nods. His eyes glow blue for a moment, then the same blue haze covers the entire group in a barrier spell. He quickly turns in a circle and the barrier is dispelled. He nuzzles Lavellan's hand and she disappears into the Fade, only to appear a second later on the other side of him. He licks her hand and suddenly it is her eyes that glow, as his voice caresses her mind gently, _'Tell them that is all the peaceful spells besides healing that I offer in this form, if you would, vhenan.'_

She blinks, a shiver rolling down her spine as the spell fades, "Atisha... wishes to say that aside from healing, that is everything it can do which is peaceful enough to show you right now," she directs the rest of her statement to Fen'harel, "And _that_ was a new trick, you never told me you could do that one."

He huffs in a wolf's imitation of a laugh, directing a panting grin at her.

She shakes her head and sighs, ruffling the fur on his head affectionately.

When she looks up, everyone is staring at her.

"What?"

Josie is the first to speak, "I believe what we are all wondering is something along the lines of, 'What in the name of the Maker just happened?' How did you know what it wished to say? We didn't hear anything."

Before Lavellan can answer, 'Atisha' blinks into the Fade and out of it next to Josie, nudging her hand with his nose as her eyes glow the same as Lavellan's had. Josie gasps, covering her mouth as she looks down at the wolf by her side.

"It... said, 'I mean none of you any harm. This is the only way I can truly communicate in this form, and I mean to prove to all of you that I can be trusted. I only wish to help your cause of peace in this world'. It also asks that you hold your hands out so it can greet all of you in the same fashion. I must say, it is... a truly fascinating and slightly disturbing experience."

Nobody moves at first.

"Oh, for Andraste's sake," Cullen sticks his hand out.

'Atisha' moves slowly to the outstretched hand, looking to the others surrounding him and sitting, waiting patiently.

Blackwall is the next to offer his hand, followed shortly by Cass, Leliana and Varric.

Sera shakes her head behind Cass, "Nuh-uh. I ain't lettin' that thing touch me. I'll stay right back 'ere, thanks."

Fen'harel huffs a sigh, then gently nudges each outstretched hand in turn.

As the glow fades from his eyes, Cullen chuckles, "It just said, 'hello'."

Nods and confirmation follow from the other affected parties, though Leliana remains quiet with a small smile on her lips. Lavellan raises an eyebrow at this, but says nothing about it.

Instead, she smiles and looks around at the gathered party, giving a small bow of gratitude, " _Ma serannas_ , my friends. Thank you for coming. Now, I suggest we all go and enjoy the festivities while there's still night left to enjoy them in!"

A round of agreement is uttered and they begin to filter out, Sera keeping at least one person between her and 'Atisha' the entire way.

Leliana halts Lavellan with a hand on her arm, signaling with a finger over her own lips as Lavellan turns to speak. She waits until everyone is gone, then lowers the finger.

She speaks in hushed tones, "Atisha told me something interesting. He's Solas?"

Lavellan blinks and looks down at Fen'harel, who nods his confirmation, then shakes himself to free him of the wolf form.

"You told her, then? I must say, I'm surprised, _vhenan_."

He smirks, "She would have found out at some point. It is better for her to find out this way, to avoid any complications later."

Leliana smiles, "You are correct on that count. You know, you're the third mage I've met with shapeshifting abilities."

Lavellan quirks an eyebrow at this, "Third? I knew about Morrigan, but who was the second?"

Leliana gives a short laugh, "The Hero of Ferelden, of course. She was a Dalish mage of no small talent herself, even before she met Morrigan. Morrigan said the Hero reminded her of someone else she had also shared her talent with; it was part of the reason she was willing to teach it again, as I understand it. I'm curious where you learned it though, Solas."

He smirks, "One can learn many things whilst traveling both the wilds and the Fade, if one keeps an open mind."

Leliana shakes her head with a smile, "You sound exactly like Morrigan. She claimed to have learned it simply from observing animals. I always wondered who it was she had taught before she met the Hero; she would never say. She must've been fairly young when she did it; she spoke of it as if it happened long ago."

Lavellan coughs, flushing slightly, "That... would be me."

Leliana blinks, surprise gracing her face, "What? You? Am I to understand that I'm surrounded by shapeshifters now? What forms can you take?"

"I uh..." Lavellan chuckles nervously, "It's actually the same shape you saw Solas take. He copied my wolf. The original idea was that we would accompany each other while alternating our forms, but we decided it was best to just stick with him doing it, since nobody ever really seeks him out besides myself. Much easier to keep up the ruse that way. Here, I'll show you."

She falls onto her paws and sits, looking up at Leliana and fidgeting all the while.

Leliana looks down at Lavellan, her face clouded with scrutiny for a moment, then lifting into a smile as she looks to Fen'harel, "You did an excellent job copying her, Solas. May I see it again for comparison?"

"Certainly," he nods and falls in beside Lavellan, the two twins looking up at Leliana.

She stares down at them with a small amount of wonder, "Maker, that is remarkable. Can either of you take on any other forms?"

Lavellan shakes her head, but Fen'harel nods, shaking off the wolf and returning to his elvhen form, Lavellan following in his wake.

"I can, though none of them are quite as versatile as my wolf."

"You mean her wolf. It is copied off of hers, is it not?" Leliana gently contradicts him.

"Ah," he glances at Lavellan with a tiny smirk, "yes. True enough."

Leliana looks between them, eyes narrowing, "What am I missing here? It _is_ her wolf, is it not?"

Lavellan intercedes, "Yes, it is. He was a remarkably quick learner; it only took him a few minutes of careful study to copy it almost exactly. A few adjustments had to be made, but it is now a perfect copy in nearly every way."

"Nearly? It looked exact to me," Leliana folds her arms across her chest, eyebrow raised in confusion.

Lavellan blushes, "Well... we're not the same sex, obviously. But that's the only difference."

Realization dawns on Leliana's face, "Oh! Of course, how stupid of me," she chuckles, "Well, this has been entertaining. I'm assuming you wish these abilities to remain a secret, since I am only now learning of them?"

Lavellan nods emphatically, "Yes, please. Dorian knows, but I would greatly appreciate it if nobody else knew the truth, for either of us. It's not that there's any particular danger in others knowing really, it's just... a personal preference for both of us. It won't interfere with anything, I promise."

Leliana nods, regarding them both evenly, "True, I can see no reason why it would. Very well, I will be happy to keep your secrets. You say Dorian knows? I am rather surprised that you would share it with him, since he is such a new ally. Quite untested, in fact."

Fen'harel speaks up, "Fen'da'len came to know Dorian rather well in the alternate red lyrium future, from what I understand. She trusts him, as do I. He does not seem the sort to betray a trust, once given."

Leliana nods, though she retains her skepticism, "Hmm. Perhaps you are correct, but I will continue to watch him carefully. He may seem honorable, but he is from Tevinter. There is no telling what plans he could have, considering the venatori cult we've been hearing so much about lately. He could very well be one of their agents."

Lavellan shakes her head, "No, I don't think he is. Watch him if you must, but I really don't think Dorian is that duplicitous."

Leliana sighs, "While I trust your judgment, Herald, you'll excuse me if I still keep a wary eye trained on him, just in case. It would be foolish to simply dismiss the possibility that he could be a spy, given his background."

Lavellan inclines her head, "As you wish, Spymaster. You've taken good care of us all so far, I trust your abilities."

"Thank you, Herald," she smiles, "Now, I believe there were festivities mentioned earlier; I believe I might partake a bit myself. If you'll both excuse me."

Lavellan and Fen'harel both give small bows, though Fen'harel is the one to speak, "Of course, do enjoy yourself."

"Why thank you, I shall," Leliana chuckles and saunters past them, then out through the large oak doors of the Chantry hall.

When she is out of earshot, Fen'harel turns to Lavellan and murmurs, "How soon?"

She sighs, "Soon. Within an hour or so, I'd say. I need to get out there, Cass will want to speak to me before it happens. Join me as Atisha. When Cass approaches me, it will happen in moments."

He nods, catching her arm as she starts to move toward the doors, "Wait, _ma lath_ , I-"

He shakes his head and gives up trying to voice his thoughts, pulling her to him and cradling her head with his hands as he crushes his lips to hers.

Her small noise of surprise is muffled by his mouth, her arms belatedly remembering to wrap around him as she tilts her head and deepens the kiss, threading her fingers through his hair greedily.

He breaks the kiss, resting his brow against hers as he strokes his hands up and down her back, " _Ar lath ma, vhenan. Em'an hellathen nadas'halam. Garas, el'enasalin sahlin'su._ "

She leans back slightly to look at him, _"Tel'halam, vhenan. El dareth'en atisha'an."_

He smiles, uttering a small laugh, "True enough, _ma sa'lath. Dareth shiral."_

She grins at him, _"Ar lath ma, uth'lath. Dareth shiral."_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> By the by, if any of you are interested, here's my info:  
> Skype: shannaleia  
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> Twitter: [Actually_Fen_Harel](https://twitter.com/Spyke1985)  
> DeviantArt: [ActuallyFenHarel](http://actuallyfenharel.deviantart.com/)
> 
> I'm on Skype 24/7, unless I'm asleep, or not at home.
> 
> Want my book? Get it here: [The Enemy In Me](http://www.amazon.com/dp/B00QZ5AI1K)
> 
> Thanks for reading! If you enjoy the story, or this chapter in particular, please feel free to leave a review with your thoughts! I love reading comments, and reply to all of them. <3


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Random Note: Yes, I know that class specializations don’t appear in the game until you reach Skyhold. Frankly, that’s just... dumb. So excuse me while I blatantly disregard canon in this non-canon, AU-ish, time-traveling fic. :P Fen’da’len is a Rift Mage (AKA the “Fade magic” she and Fen’harel mention in previous chapters), with points deep into the spirit and storm trees, as well as dipping (very) mildly into the ice tree (for fade step, though I don’t really understand why it’s in the ice tree instead of the spirit tree, but whatever. Freezing enemies as you zap through them is cool I guess?). She knows some weak fire spells, but they’re more for practical use (read: setting campfires aflame, drying clothes, warming water.) and not really strong enough to use in battle. Her main affinity is lightning and Fade/spirit magic. It’s fiction people. Roll with it. :P

 

The hills to the southeast of Haven are glowing orange from the army of torches glittering off of the snow as Lavellan runs, Atisha and Cass at her side, to the village gates. Cullen waits for them, just as before; Josie and Leliana sliding to a halt just after Lavellan's group. Questions are rapidly fired from many tongues, panic lacing the voice of nearly all gathered. Lavellan remains silent, her eyes drifting down to meet Atisha's, her fingers curling around and gently holding a tuft of his fur.

There is a sudden impact on the gates, accompanied by a glow that could only be magical in nature seeping out from under the gate, and through the fine line of space between the thick wooden doors. Far too early for it to be any of Corypheus' troops, it is the signal she's been waiting for. Cole has arrived.

His insistent voice is muffled through the gates as he quite literally speaks to them, "I can't come in unless you open!"

She moves down the steps, gesturing to the guard to open the gates, which seem far more rickety than they are, as the cacophony of the steel and groaning of the snow under the boots of the marching troops reaches her elvhen ears.

Cullen has his sword out, and half of Haven seems to have emptied out behind him, every one of them with their weapons at the ready, eyes seeking out any dangers close enough to strike against. But they only find the distant army, and what appears to be a single young man, standing amongst a ring of corpses that are arranged as if an explosion had only just detonated behind them.

Cole straightens, has stance more confident than his lowered head indicates as he addresses Cullen, "I'm Cole, I came to warn you, but you already know," he focuses on Lavellan, giving her the tiniest of smiles, then turning to point at a high, rocky outcropping in the mountainside, "He comes to kill you. You took the mages from him, stole what he wanted, and now he comes to take it back."

Cullen glares at him in confused, panicked frustration, his voice demanding and impatient, " _Who_ comes to kill us? Whose army is this?"

"The elder one. The one beside him is called Samson, but he is not as he once was," Cole replies cryptically.

Surprise raises, then creases Cullen's eyebrows, "Samson?" He peers at the two figures standing on the outcropping, their bodies outlined sharply against the snowy mountains as a multitude of torches illuminate them, "What is he doing with this elder one?"

He turns to Lavellan, his eyes betraying his worry, "This is very troubling, Herald. I knew Samson once, and while the last I'd heard he was nothing more than a lyrium addict, begging in the streets, the templar I knew him best as was a brilliant tactician. If he is leading this elder one's army, this just became far more dangerous than it already was. We need to hit them with everything we have, and we need to do it now."

She nods quickly, "I'll see to it, Commander. I'll make sure the trebuchets hit them hard, you worry about the troops and civilian evacuation."

He gives a swift nod of understanding and goes to rally his troops for battle.

Lavellan starts back into the gates, calling over her shoulder, "Cass, Atisha, Cole, with me. We'll find a fourth along the way. We need to get to the trebuchets and hit that mountainside. Hopefully we can cause a landslide, knock that army down a peg or two. We'll have to protect them while they're firing, so eyes open!"

Cass halts her with a hand on her arm, concern in her face, "Why is the young man coming with us? He is completely untested in battle!"

Lavellan swipes her hand over her face in frustration, "Cass, he came to help, I'm letting him help. He bested that entire group out there by himself; I'm pretty sure he can handle a fight. We don't have time to argue, we have to _go_!"

Cass still looks unsure, but huffs and nods, "If you insist. But I still object to this; we need our best."

Lavellan holds back the frustration that bubbles up as much as she can, "I said we're getting a fourth, Cassandra, though now we have even less time to do so! Are we done?"

Cass seems surprised at her outburst, but merely nods in reply, releasing Lavellan's arm in favor of slinging her shield from her back and slipping her arm into it, "Ready."

Relief is obvious on Lavellan's face, "Good," she turns and runs smack into Dorian, who smirks.

"My goodness, someone's in a hurry. I take it you were just about to come get me, by the relief on your face. I get that a lot."

She barely stifles the impulse to hug him as she grins up at him; he's saved them sorely needed time, "I could kiss you right now."

He chuckles nervously, his eyes drifting down to where Atisha stands at her side, "Perhaps later, I believe we're short on time right now, yes?"

She nods, "True. Come on, we've got to protect the trebuchets while they fire at that mess," she jerks her thumb over her shoulder at the army quickly approaching Haven.

He inclines his head as she slips past him, "Time to save the day then. I'm with you."

She graces him with a quick smile over her shoulder as she begins to jog in the direction of the first trebuchet, her eyes scanning the area for venatori helms or red crystals. None yet, but it won't be long - seconds at most.

She shouts to be heard over the din of battle that's begun outside the walls, pointing at the soldiers on the trebuchet, "Fire as soon as you're able, try to aim for the mountains above them, we need an avalanche if you can give us one!"

Harried salutes are the soldiers' response as they quickly move to their task.

Lavellan turns, eyes locking on the first group of enemies coming toward them.

Atisha gives her a nudge as his voice whispers, _'Fight well, vhenan,'_ in her head.

"You too," she smiles down at him, then begins casting at the enemy as Cass rushes forward to meet them.

* * * * *

"Go!" She looks back at them, waving them off, "Get to the Chantry, _RUN!_ "

The rest have turned to retreat, Atisha the last one to linger.

"Go, _vhenan_. I'll see you soon."

He meets her eyes, a sound she never thought she'd hear from him whispering across to her: a whimper.

Before she can say or do anything, he turns and bolts after the rest of her companions, leaving her to heave a sigh of relief. He'll be safe. One less thing to worry about.

She turns to face the blast that she knows is coming, raising her barrier in preparation. The explosion still knocks her down, but the impact is softened, and she recovers faster than she had before. She stands in time to see Corypheus striding through flames that lick at his half-robes, but never catch.

He stops before her, regarding her with obvious distaste.

The dance begins anew, but this time, she knows the steps.

* * * * *

Falling, tumbling, rolling, she smacks against a jagged edge somewhere and feels a sharp pain in her side. She finally comes to a stop at the bottom, groaning and slowly sitting up before she checks to see how bad the damage is. Not bleeding, but very tender. Cracked rib most likely. Doesn't seem to be fully broken, but it definitely smarts. Just like last time. She grimaces as she stands, she knows the pain will slow her down more than she'd like, especially the colder she gets.

The fracture means she definitely can't use her wolf; shapeshifting with bone damage is not only stupid, but dangerous. So, using that method to help keep her warm is out. She growls in annoyance as the same demons she remembers from last time pull themselves up from the earth and stare at her with savage eyes. She doesn't hesitate this time to tear a hole in the veil and rip them through it, before sealing it quickly and moving on.

She has to get to the camp, as quickly as possible.

She reaches the mouth of the cave, taking a breath as she looks out into the thick white of the blizzard that's kicked up. She knows it will dissipate soon, so she takes the first step into the white without delay. She hears a wolf howling in the distance.

The bite of the icy wind lashes out at her, feeling as if it's trying to cut through her. Apparently, her newly extended lifespan only provides so much protection from the elements, before it crumbles in the face of extremes.

Her teeth begin to chatter in moments, and she starts to cast a slow burn on the heating spell in an attempt to avoid frostbite on her fingers, at least. She doesn't know how long it will take him to reach her, but she can't just wait for him, she must meet him part-way there.

The snow is blinding her; she can barely see a hint of light through the onslaught to indicate her beacon, her direction, her salvation. Her feet sink into the already knee-high snow, clumps of it wedging themselves into the tops of her boots and slowly melting; dripping down the inside. Her feet are well wrapped within them, but she can still feel the moisture gathering and cooling more quickly than she can counter. More howling from within the trees she knows are framing her path, but cannot see.

She had worn a heavier robe than usual in preparation, but it is not enough. The cold is beginning to seep into her bones now, making her joints stiff and slowing her progress. She keeps moving, knowing that to stand still is to invite death into her heart. A flicker of blackness in her periphery, the shine of yellow eyes glinting and disappearing. Another howl, from the same direction.

She continues on her path. She is nearly halfway there now. Her knees and feet are aching with the frigid cold, and she allows herself one moment to stop and catch her breath, hands resting on her thighs as she bends over. She takes one more bracing breath and straightens, ready to push on.

She stops before she starts, her vision filled with black fur and six blue eyes. He is... as big as he was in Arlathan. Her cold-addled mind spares time to wonder at this. He looks her over, then brushes against her, sending a single phrase to her mind, _'Get on, da'fen.'_

He walks around her to position himself beside her and lowers himself, almost to his belly.

"Are you-"

He doesn't let her finish, brushing against her again, his voice an urgent command, _'Get on_ _ **now,**_ _da'fen!'_

She reaches for him at this, swinging her leg over his back and leaning forward, resting her head beside his neck and clenching large tufts of fur in her fists. Oh, he is so _warm_. She hadn't realized it, but she'd become cold enough to actually stop shivering - never a good sign. Now, with his body and fur warming her, the automatic instinct is returning, and her whole body begins to tremble.

He raises himself up once he is certain she is secure, then begins walking at first; getting her used to the motion of him under her, then slowly easing into a loping pace. Soon, he is at a dead run.

He sends thoughts to her as he runs, _'I will get you to where they find you, then meet you inside the camp and assess your injuries once you are safe. No doubt Vivienne and Dorian will wish to assist; they have been discussing the care you will need once you arrive the entire time. Neither believed you dead. Dorian may have known the truth of it, but Vivienne stated you were simply too stubborn to die.'_

A weak, shivering chuckle escapes her lips, "S-sounds ab-bout right."

A soothing feeling transfers to her from him, followed by his voice once more, _'Save your strength, da'fen. You will need it to recover.'_

She gives no argument while she continues to shudder and cling to his back. While he may be warming her vulnerable front, her entire back is still exposed to the raw elements, the wind whipping even harder against her for the speed at which they travel. She is still warmer than she was, and she takes comfort in the thought.

She takes more comfort in the fact that he came for her. He didn't abandon her. He kept his word.

She snugs herself more tightly to him, shifting her face to the other side of his neck for warmth. The edges of his fur are almost as cold as her face at first, though she can barely feel it before the heat rises through it from his skin.

She adjusts her grip on his fur, threading her fingers through it and holding it more gently; she doesn't need to hold on so tightly now that she's used to the rhythm of his running stride.

Riding on the back of the Dread Wolf. What a thing to be used to! Keeper Deshanna would likely drop dead of fright if she could see Fen'da'len now. She almost laughs at the perverseness of the entire situation. But she is too grateful to laugh and as amusing as it would be to show her clan the truth, she knows it would not help her regain their trust after all is said and done. It is a trust she will desperately need if she intends to bring the Dalish and city elves out of their ignorance and oppression within this century.

She feels his magic prodding her now (how had she not noticed it before this?), and she summons the will to press back weakly, lapping at his gently before letting it fall back into her, expended. She feels tired now; more tired than she has felt in a long time. She resists the urge to sleep, an urge that becomes more powerful by the moment.

' _Da'fen.'_

She tries to hum a response, but her throat is tight with the cold.

' _Da'fen, you cannot sleep yet. A few more moments and we will be at camp. Hold the Fade at bay until then.'_

She gives a small nod, nuzzling further into his neck.

' _Promise me, da'fen. Promise me you will stay awake a few more moments.'_

A harsh whisper is all she can muster in response, and she is unsure if he hears it, as small as it is, _"I promise, vhenan."_

' _Ma serannas, sa'lath.'_

She keeps her word, just as he had. It is not long until she feels his pace slacken, then cease altogether. She opens her eyes and slowly manages to lift her head, realizing they are at the mouth of the valley; where she had finally collapsed the first time.

With every ounce of strength she can muster, she pushes herself upright and stiffly dismounts. She walks further toward the maw of the valley, until she can almost see the campfires below, then collapses, just as she had before. She looks to see if Fen'harel lingers, but he is gone; not a trace of him left behind.

Cullen shouting his discovery of her yanks her attention back to the valley, just as the last of her energy gives out.

* * * * *

He cloaks himself with the veil, skirting the edges of the camp until he finds his tent. He waits until none are facing the tent before he ducks inside, shaking off his wolf quickly and exiting once more. He looks up to see Commander Cullen racing down the hill carrying Fen'da'len; his arms holding her arms against her, her head tucked against his chest. Fen'harel runs up to meet them, accompanying them to one of the larger tents and waiting for Cullen to set her down on the cot.

He can hear Seeker Cassandra calling for Dorian and Vivienne. He ushers Cullen out of the way, as he sets to warming her limbs with a more powerful version of the heat spell he'd taught his _da'fen_ in her previous life. He lets the heat sink into her muscles and bones, keeping it up until he feels the magic of the other two mages coursing in to meet him. They burst inside, Dorian first, Vivienne close behind him; both of their faces showing open concern.

He nods at Dorian, "Fire rune, and when that's done, summon a spirit to the edge of the veil for healing as quickly as you can for Vivienne."

Dorian quickly goes to work, weaving the spell before Fen'harel finishes speaking.

Vivienne settles at the end of the cot, reaching out with her magic to diagnose her patient.

Fen'harel resumes warming his _da'fen_ , tracing his hands a mere whisper above her skin, as the air warps visibly with heat displacing cold around his fingers.

"Her boots need to come off _now_ , she has frostbite on her toes. She's freezing, but you seem to have that in hand, Solas, so I won't bother. There're at least two fractured ribs, and her shoulder is sprained. There's also a possible concussion," Vivienne declares, as she works to unlace Fen'da'len's boots herself. Her magic flares out to prod Dorian, who nods, his eyes closed in concentration while purple flames flicker from the tips of his fingers as he calls the needed spirit forth.

"It's coming. It'll be here when you're ready."

She succeeds in pulling the first boot off before she replies, "Very good. Thank you."

"Anything to rescue the toes of our savior," comes his acerbic response.

She manages to pry the second boot off as she nods, "That she is. I would not risk healing magic for anyone less. That creature and his dragon have dealt our organization a hard blow, but she did very well under the circumstances."

Dorian snorts, "My my, such high praise. I'll be sure to let her know how highly you think of her when she recovers."

"I'll be quite happy to inform her myself, thank you. I don't need a mouthpiece," she snaps.

Fen'harel growls, "Enough! The spirit is here, if you are ready, Lady Vivienne. Dorian, please keep the rune powered, if you would, but I believe she may need your position."

"Ah, yes, of course," Dorian shifts out of the way quickly and switches places with Vivienne.

As Vivienne settles at Fen'da'len's side, she shakes her hands out, head tipping back slightly as she reaches out for the spirit's aide. She places her hands above Fen'harel's, as they begin to glow with blue light that drifts down into Fen'da'len, the restorative power beginning its work.

Fen'harel breathes a quiet sigh of relief as relative silence falls in the tent, the only sounds coming from the magic being sustained by the three mages, and their combined breathing and movement. It is a set of sounds that brings comfort to his ancient soul. She will heal; though full recovery will likely take days, it will come.

The cold is the worst of it. He shifts down to her legs and feet, suffusing the flesh and bone with warmth, though the frostbite will require Vivienne's attention. He could heal her himself, but she needs to get warm again more than she needs healing right now. He and Dorian are providing the most needed spellwork.

He ceases his casting when she is no longer cold to his touch. Vivienne has moved from Fen'da'len's head to her shoulder, her ribs, and now shifts down to her feet. Fen'harel sits back on his heels and sighs, lowering his head and pinching the bridge of his nose in worry, despite knowing his da'fen will be alright. He gives a small smile for the thought that the worry she always carries seems to be rubbing off on him.

"Dare I even ask what you're smiling about?" Dorian hazards the question.

Fen'harel lifts his head to look at Dorian, unaware he'd been so obvious, "Relief, mostly. I am glad she will survive."

It is Vivienne that responds, "It will take a few days for it all to heal properly; especially that shoulder of hers. But yes, she will survive. The worst of it is the frostbite really. I recommend at least one elfroot potion when she wakes, and another every day after until she is fully recovered. And she needs to stay off her feet. She did indeed have a concussion; it may be a day or so before she awakens."

Fen'harel nods, "Thank you for your assistance, Lady Vivienne. It was most helpful."

She raises an eyebrow, "I didn't do it for you, Solas. But your gratitude is appreciated."

He inclines his head with a tiny smile, though mentally he is grinding his teeth. The nerve of this woman! If she only knew to whom she speaks so condescendingly. But these thoughts have no place here. To her, he is a simple hedge mage, an apostate; a savage, for all intents and purposes. Never mind that he is the one that twists the Fade to his will, that created the veil that hampers her magic at every turn, that he-

' _Enough,'_ he tells himself, _'it does no good to dwell on it.'_

Completely ignorant to his inner turmoil, she excuses herself from their presence and exits the tent gracefully.

Both remaining mages breath a sigh of relief at her departure, sharing pained smiles as they notice each others' reactions.

"Remind me to limit my topics of discussion to fashion the next time I open my mouth around her. Maker help me, it is the only thing we ever agree on," Dorian shakes his head with a tiny laugh.

Fen'harel smirks, "She is certainly difficult to converse with at times, though I am grateful you were both here tonight. It made the entire situation far less physically stressful for Fen'da'len."

Dorian tilts his head in a shrug, "True enough; though I wouldn't say it was less stressful for everyone else in here."

Fen'harel utters a hum that is nearly a growl, "Mm, indeed not. She is... trying, to say the least. But, she is a powerful asset to the Inquisition. I would not begrudge her her place in it, simply because she has a disagreeable attitude towards those she considers unworthy."

Dorian scoffs, "'Unworthy'? We're the down right scum of the earth in her mind. Me? A 'mouthpiece'? The gall!"

Fen'harel chuckles, "How do you think I felt, at her condescension? I barely managed to bite my tongue."

"I can imagine," Dorian sends an overflow of magic into the rune beneath Fen'da'len's cot, then stands, "That should hold out for a while. I'm going to get some rest. Wake me if it needs a recharge."

" _Hamin atisha_ , Dorian. I thank you for your help. I believe she would wish to thank you as well," He gives a small bow of gratitude to the Necromancer.

"You're both quite welcome, though I'm not sure what that elvish phrase you said means."

Fen'harel smiles, "It means rest peacefully. I was merely wishing you pleasant dreams."

Dorian raises an eyebrow, "You know, coming from you, I'm not entirely sure if I should be happy or very, very afraid at that. You being the father of the Fade and all that rot."

Fen'harel huffs a small laugh, "I was genuine in my wish, Dorian. You have nothing to fear from me tonight. I will be far too occupied protecting and tending to Fen'da'len, both here and in the Fade, to bother you; even if I had an interest in such a thing."

Dorian's features relax significantly, "Ah! Well that's good then. I wish you the same."

Fen'harel smiles, "Thank you. Goodnight, Dorian."

"Goodnight," he nods and turns, slipping out into the night through the lowered tent flaps.

Fen'harel smiles and turns, edging sideways to kneel by the head of the cot. Reaching over, he sweeps away a rebellious tendril of hair that's come free of her intricate braids to fall across her face. He cups her cheek and leans forward, pressing his lips to her brow.

He heaves the sigh of one who waits, turning and pulling an extra fur to the ground, laying on it to join her in the Fade. She is in a vulnerable state, being unable to wake just yet, and he will not leave her unprotected. He casts his sleeping spell over himself and closes his eyes.

He opens them again to a vaguely familiar scene. He stands at the edge of a forest, the area beyond it fading into a void, as the dream's epicenter is obviously the middle of the forest. He calls his wolf and heads in, bounding over the thick underbrush easily, his magic flexing outward to find his mate.

He feels echoes of her emanating from his left, and he changes course accordingly. The forest begins to thin, and suddenly he stands at the edge of a clearing. It is a different clearing than the one they had met in so often outside of Haven; this one has trees that are likely almost as old as he is surrounding it. In the clearing itself is a young elvhen girl with flowers in her hair, leaning against a statue of his wolf form, asleep. He sits and observes for a time, this moment of peace giving him no cause to act or interfere.

Something moves along the edge of his vision, and he turns sharply to see Cole, adjusting his hat quietly as he stands watch.

Fen'harel smiles to himself, moving quietly to sit next to the spirit. He brushes against Cole, _'Hello, Cole. How long have you been standing guard over her?'_

Cole returns the gesture, _'Since she came here. She needed help at first. She's alright now.'_

' _What did she need help with?'_ Fen'harel asks.

' _She was hurting, in a bad place, I helped her find here again.'_

Fen'harel queries, _'And where is here, exactly?'_

Cole picks at his hand wraps as he answers, _'Away from the other children in her new clan. They hurt her, call her names, throw rocks at her for being an outsider. One of them hits her head and her hand is sparking- "Oh, creators, what is this? What am I? I can't think I can't" - her mind fades to black. She wakes in the Keeper's tent, warm blue light making her eyes sting when she opens them - "Desha, what's going on? What happened? Why did they hurt me?" - Keeper Deshanna tries to explain, but she doesn't understand, a mind too fragile to grasp the threads that now bind her to a clan she doesn't want to belong to.'_

Fen'harel shakes his wolf off and stands, surveying the situation with new eyes, _'She has just discovered her magic?'_

Cole nods.

Fen'harel's brow crinkles in surprise, _'So young? She cannot be more than four or five years at most! Even in Elvhenan, magic would usually only manifest at puberty.'_

' _That was when her Keeper told her she would be her First. She was the only other mage in the clan; it had to be her. She didn't want to be First - "I can take it back, I can make the sparks go away so I don't have to stay here, they don't really want me, they just want this." - but she couldn't take it back. She tried, but every time the other children made her angry, the magic would come out. She tried to make it stop, but it wouldn't listen to her, wouldn't stop, wouldn't leave her alone,'_ Cole is shifting from one foot to another in anxiety, threads pulling from his hand wraps as he continues to pick at them.

Fen'harel lays his hand on Cole's shoulder, _'Peace, Cole. You brought her here to calm her?'_

He stills, mostly, tilting his head while his eyes never leave her, _'Yes. The other children don't come here, she can be alone and sleep in peace with you watching over her. Her Keeper doesn't like how much time she spends here, but it keeps her out of trouble, keeps her calm, so she lets her come here anyway. She comes here after her lessons are finished every day, and she sleeps and dreams that you'll come and take her away from this. She learns how to shape the dream around her, how to bend it to her will. It takes time, but she's learning. She can almost hear the voices of the past, whispering to her here.'_

Fen'harel watches as the sleeping girl disappears, replaced by a young woman in her teens. She's standing in front of the statue, looking it in the eyes and smiling.

She speaks, her voice loving, "Hello, Fen'harel. How are you today?"

Her voice is lighter, younger than the one he is so familiar with, but this younger version of his _vhenan_ is vibrant, wild, untamed. It brings a smile to his lips to see her youthfulness.

She continues, oblivious to his musings; and apparently his presence as well, for now, "We need to repair your statue, your ears are getting worn down," she smooths her fingers over the ears in question, her expression vaguely pouting, "They're all so afraid of you. They should take better care of your monuments if they're so fearful. I would repair you, but my hands are not steady enough; or so Deshanna claims, anyway. I think she just wants me to stop coming here to you. She says a future Keeper shouldn't be so enamored with the Dread Wolf, that it leaves me vulnerable."

A grin curls Fen'harel's lips up. He folds his hands behind his back as he watches the scene unfold with amusement.

She gets very close to the statue's face, nearly nose to nose with it, "Want to know what I think? I think you're not as bad as what they say in the stories. I think that it's good to keep my eyes open. I think that if I keep you in my heart, even when everyone else thinks I'm cursed and crazy for it, that I'll be stronger than they'll ever be for it. I think that's the real truth," she leans in to whisper in the statue's ear, "And I hope that someday, you'll come here and take me away from all this, and tell me all the real truths that the Keepers don't want us to know."

The young woman fades, and his vhenan as he knows her now saunters into the clearing, lifting a hand to trail along the spine of the statue as she rounds to the front of it. She cups its stone head in her hands and dips her head to press her brow to the wolf's. Her eyes close, thumbs caressing the worn cheeks with tender devotion.

"Hello again, _ma lath_. I'm afraid this will be the last time in a long while that I'll be able to come here. Deshanna is sending me off to spy on the _shems_ at this conclave they're holding. I don't know how long I'll be gone, but it'll take a month to get there on foot, and I have no idea how long this conclave will last, so..." she trails off with a sigh.

She turns and sits beneath its great head, leaning against its stony chest with her hand hooked over her shoulder to stroke the stone behind her, "I can't wait any longer, _ma lath_. I leave at dawn tomorrow. If you come for me, I hope it's tonight. I wouldn't want to be gone and miss you showing up after all these years of waiting. That would be a bit _too_ ironic, for my tastes. Maybe you'll find me out there, then? At this damn _shemlen_ conclave?" She snorts, shaking her head, "I don't know. I can't imagine you'd be there, with all those _shems_. But it is a pretty big deal, from what we're hearing. Maybe it'll be big enough to pique your interest? A girl can hope."

She grunts as she gets back up, turning once more to face the wolf and planting a kiss on its nose, "I'll come back as soon as I can, _ma lath_. May you catch my scent."

Fen'harel watches, stunned, as Fen'da'len slowly walks away, her hand trailing along the side of the statue as she goes, disappearing into the forest. The scene remains, though the dreamer it belongs to is conspicuously absent.

Cole speaks aloud now, "She loved you before she met you. At first, it was desperation, pulling, tugging, trying to get away, anything to escape a fate she didn't choose. With time came reality, with reality came belief, with belief came patience and something deeper. Before she left, she gave her heart to you, even though she hadn't met you. And it wasn't so you could take her away, it was just so you could take her. Catch her, find her, be with her; she wanted it so badly she could almost catch your scent before you woke. By the time she met you, she was the huntress, and you were her prey. She could've found you, if she could only catch your scent."

For the first time since she had revealed her knowledge of him, he is speechless.

The scene slowly fades; her scent is still strong in the Fade, but she is dreaming elsewhere.

Cole turns and heads toward her, but Fen'harel stands, rooted to the raw Fade that is slowly taking shape, as if he is one of the trees from her dream. Or the statue itself.

His mind turns, mulling over what he's seen; digesting it slowly, inhaling the scent of it, testing the flavor of it, adjusting to the texture and finding all of it to be more succulent than the most glorious feasts of Arlathan.

He smiles and follows Cole's path, heading for the next scene in his _da'fen's_ dreams. He arrives quickly, standing next to Cole as the main hall at _Tarasyl'an Te'las_ spills out before them, filled with revelers. Murmurs from the crowd indicate that Corypheus has been defeated. He watches as Fen'da'len weaves through the crowds, speaking to various people. She puts on a smile that he can tell is far from genuine, but she does it for them, keeping up some sort of charade.

He looks around and notes that he is not present. All too quickly, she begins heading for her chambers, and he follows, masking himself in her memory. Cole stays behind, staring at an empty chair with great concentration.

He drifts up the stairs behind her as she slowly climbs them, seeming to lose energy with each step. She pauses at the last step, heaving a sigh. Her hand grips the railing as her shoulders slump with her exhale. She mounts the last step and heads out onto the balcony, folding her arms over herself and hugging her ribs. He stands beside her and watches her. Her eyes look out over the mountain peaks before her, expression transforming from vague hope to grim resignation as she nods, lowering her gaze to the foothills, unseeing.

One hand reaches for the steadiness of the balcony railing as her face crumples in anguish, a sob racking her body before her other hand covers her mouth, worry mingling with anguish as her gaze darts wildly back and forth. She sinks to her knees, still clinging to the railing, as tears roll over the peaks and valleys of her fingers that continue to muffle the sounds of her sorrow. She collapses and turns with her back to the railing, nearly a perfect mirror of when she'd leaned against his statue.

"So you didn't come for me, after all," her voice is watery at first, and she clears her throat, looking down to her lap, "I should have known. What a foolish child I've been. Instead, you sent one of your agents to make my heart wander and crush it. Serves me right, I suppose, for straying. You're a jealous god, it only makes sense that you'd test me like this. I failed, in the end."

A wry chuckle escapes her lips, "Oh, I beat the bad guy, of course. But what did I really win for that? Now I've got a giant target painted on my back, and way too much power. I have the guidance, and that wisdom and strength of will he praised so much, to do good things with it. But once again, I didn't choose any of it. I fell into it, just like I fell into the Fade in the first place. Just like I fell in love with you, so long ago. And what good did that ever do me?"

Her fingers entwine on her lap, twisting and picking at each other in her distress, "None. I was a foolish _da'len_ then, and I'm a foolish _da'len_ now. It didn't change anything. Except now, I have all of this to take care of, and no wise elvhen advisor to ask about any of it. You don't answer, so who am I supposed to ask the questions I asked him now? I can't even go back to my clan; they'd never accept a flat-ear. I would be _harellan_ to them. So, oh wise trickster, oh god of rebellion, what should I do?"

She looks up to the sky, silence permeating the moment until she scoffs and looks down once more, shaking her head, "No answer, just like always. You'd think, with you being one of the only two creators that aren't locked away, you'd answer once in a while. Once in a lifetime. I know it might not seem like much of a lifetime to you. For you, it's a blink. An instant. Then we're gone. Even then, with so many that fear you, one would think that the few faithful you do have would matter at least a little."

"Do we mean so little to you?"

He'd been watching the scene unfold from the doors to the balcony, ever since she'd sat down, leaning against the frame with his jaw clenched in sadness and regret. He'd seen all of this from the memories he'd witnessed when he gained the power of his alternate future self. But to see it played out in such detail, spread out before him like an ocean of sorrow, is a different matter.

The voice from behind him holds no sorrow, "Come away from this, _ma lath_. It matters little now."

He turns from the vision of his _vhenan_ on the balcony, to see her standing behind him with a small smile, her hand outstretched to him in invitation.

He takes her hand in his, stepping to her and brushing his lips over her brow. Her arms embrace him loosely as he leans back, his brow drawn together with worry, "But it does matter, _vhenan_. _You_ matter. All of your prayers mattered. I heard them all. Every time you invoked my name, every time you called out to me, I heard it. You were not wrong, and you were never just a foolish _da'len_. You changed _everything_ ; I did not lie when I said that. I did not come to test you. I came because I had to fix my mistake and because I _heard_ you, for all those years. I did not know it was you I had heard that first time, but I knew something more than the Breach drew me there. You were familiar, though I could not place why. Now I know."

He turns to look over his shoulder at the version of Fen'da'len from the dream memory, holding her head in her hands and weeping. He turns back and frames the real Fen'da'len's face with his hands, "Remember in the clearing, when I said there was something about you that I could not place?"

She nods.

"It was that you were the one that I had heard praying to me. Out of all the voices who use my name as a curse, you were the only one to use it in love."

She smiles, leaning up to press a chaste kiss to his lips. She moves to the side, her lips close to his ear before she whispers, "I have always loved you, Fen'harel. Now _wake up._ "

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The chair Cole's staring at? That's the chair Fen'harel would've sat in, if he'd stayed. You're welcome.
> 
> By the by, if any of you are interested, here's my info:  
> Skype: shannaleia  
> Tumblr: [Actually-Fen-Harel](http://actually-fen-harel.tumblr.com/)  
> Twitter: [Actually_Fen_Harel](https://twitter.com/Spyke1985)  
> DeviantArt: [ActuallyFenHarel](http://actuallyfenharel.deviantart.com/)
> 
> I'm on Skype 24/7, unless I'm asleep, or not at home.
> 
> Want my book? Get it here: [The Enemy In Me](http://www.amazon.com/dp/B00QZ5AI1K)
> 
> Thanks for reading! If you enjoy the story, or this chapter in particular, please feel free to leave a review with your thoughts! I love reading comments, and reply to all of them. <3


	12. Chapter 12

He wakes, eyes blinking as he looks about blearily. Nothing has changed in the tent, so he spares a moment to let his amusement wash over him. How easily she can rend him from the Fade will never cease to amaze him.

He hears a stirring from slightly above and beside him, prompting him to sit up, moving to his knees for a higher vantage point. She is not awake yet, but it won't be long. He moves to the front of the tent, opening up the flaps and tying them back. Mother Giselle is standing from the side of a sleeping soldier's bedroll, and he motions to get her attention.

He speaks softly when she nears him, "I believe we have done all we can for her, for the moment. If you would keep an eye on her, we would be most grateful."

She nods, "Of course, I will watch her and let her know what has happened when she wakes. Thank you for any part you played in her recovery."

He smiles and nods, excusing himself as the Mother goes inside, pulling a chair from the side and sitting to keep watch.

He goes to his own tent, snatching his staff before he heads back outside, hearing Fen'da'len's shemlen advisers begin to fuss and argue amongst themselves. She will wake within hours, then. He knows his next steps, thanks to her memories. Guiding the Inquisition to _Tarasyl'an Te'las_ makes sense.

His ancient fortress will provide the fledgling organization plenty of room to grow and prosper, succeeding where Haven failed. He also misses painting on walls of the rotunda. Not having access to a proper canvas for so many years has robbed him of one of his greatest forms of stress relief. He will be happy to be home, when they arrive. This time, however, he has more to look forward to than the rotunda. He fully intends to make use of his old quarters; what will now be hers and his.

"And what has you looking so unnaturally happy now?"

He turns at the sound of Dorian's still groggy voice, looking him over once to see his wrinkled robe and giving a small smirk at his expense before answering, "The future, and what may come of it. It is brighter than it seems, and full of untapped potential."

His words garner him a raised eyebrow and a non-committal hum from the other mage, "Be careful that you don't actually start to fit Varric's nickname for you. He'll never let you live it down."

He rewards Dorian with a chuckle, "Speaking from personal experience, are you?"

Dorian scoffs and waves him off as he passes him on the way to the central campfire, calling over his shoulder, "Don't say I didn't warn you."

A sardonic smirk graces his face as he looks over the camp, the arguing voices of the advisors growing loud and sharp in his lowering ears. He leans against his staff, sighing and shaking his head at the scene. He turns and heads up a hill for a better view and quieter surroundings. The blizzard has stopped, and the wind is still, so the cold isn't uncomfortable now. He'd been thankful that he was in his wolf form while searching for his _da'fen_ ; anything less insulated would have suffered as much as she had.

The silence as he reaches the crest of the hill is a blissful blessing. The valley beyond stretches out to the north; he can feel the gentle pull of _Tarasyl'an Te'las'_ magic from here. His connection to it has never waned. He wonders if his _da'fen_ feels the same connection. It is his magic in her palm that guided her so easily to it the last time, after all. She must have a similar connection.

He looks now to the future. He will still need to contact Mythal, but hopefully not to take her power this time. She is the last friend he has amongst his kin; that relationship should not be squandered. He will visit one of her shrines soon, to call on her. But first, they must all reach his fortress and his _da'fen_ must wake.

He looks down toward the camp, watching as the arguing between the shems reaches a fever pitch. He can pick up bits of their shouts, even from where he stands. He sighs and begins the trek back down the hill, noting as they seem to fracture and go their separate ways, frustration and doubt in their postures. He sees his _da'fen_ coming to the mouth of her tent, relief washing over him that she's woken. She fists her hands on her hips as she looks around, appearing lost at the helm of her ship.

The rich voice of Mother Giselle lifts over the silence of the camp as he reaches the edge of it, beginning a _shemlen_ song of struggle and hope. Others join in, adding their voices to the strength of the words. Soon, every _shem_ in the camp is singing, many coming forward to kneel in reverence of his _da'fen_. Humans and dwarves and qunari alike, pledging themselves to her cause.

The sight is awe-inspiring.

As the song ends, he starts to make his way to her, waiting for the Mother to step away, and the crowd to turn their attention to each other before he steps behind her, "A word?"

He leads the way to the unlit beacon, calling veilfire to it as he turns and waits for her patiently, a smile on his lips.

She smirks as she reaches him, "You know, you said the exact same thing to get my attention last time."

He chuckles, "Yes, I remember. But I do not wish to discuss foci, or comment on the fickleness of _shem_ hearts this time. Instead, I wish to discuss our impending journey. You know the way, yes?"

She nods, "Yes. And even if I wasn't sure," she holds her left hand up, sparking the anchor, "this will guide me well enough. It has a very strong pull to its second home."

"Second home?"

"Well, the first is the Fade, of course," she sighs, "But that is everywhere. There is only one _Tarasyl'an Te'las_."

He nods, "Indeed. My main motivation for asking you about this is to wonder if you would wish to partake in the magics held in our home? There is much power in the keystones; magics that have existed since before the rest of the fortress was even built. I could teach you how to properly tap into them, if you wish."

Her eyebrows raise, "Would these magics diminish if I were to use them?"

He smiles, "Not at all. If I teach you how to use them properly, your use of them will strengthen the magics there. When I occupied it in centuries past, my forces and I used the magic constantly. It is what allowed the structures to stand, mostly untarnished, for as long as they have. It is also what has allowed it to remain hidden from those it is not revealed to."

Surprise flashes on her face, "You mean if someone doesn't know it's there, they wouldn't be able to find it? At all?"

He smirks, "That is correct. The magics there serve many purposes, but one is indeed to hide it from those who would do its occupants harm. It is why Corypheus and his agents never find it."

She smiles, "What about the Avaar chieftain who assaults it with goats? How did he find it?"

He laughs, "What harm did he actually cause? He meant us no ill will."

She grins, "True enough. I'm just surprised the keep itself would allow any assault on it, no matter how minor."

"It was hardly an actual assault," he snorts, "goats are the least of its worries."

"So how would it appear to someone who truly meant us harm?"

"It would not appear. To an enemy looking at the valley, they would simply see a valley."

She tilts her head, "Really? How fascinating. What about one of your kin who wished you harm? Would they also see nothing but a valley?"

"Yes," his eyebrows crease in concern, "but I am curious why you would ask this."

She shrugs, "Just idle curiosity. I found it odd that Mythal never came there, considering you were there all that time, as well as her host's daughter and grandson. Then again, she didn't exactly seem keen on revealing herself to anyone else, either, so perhaps that is it."

Understanding and amusement mingle on his face, "Ah, Mythal. She knows _Tarasyl'an Te'las_ very well. She helped me bind the magics that protect it to the stones. She has never wished ill upon me, nor is it likely she ever will, now. She has always been a steadfast friend, through everything. She was the one who discovered and wished to raise me in the first place."

"Indeed? That is interesting. I didn't know the All-Mother was an ally to the Dread Wolf."

He chuckles, "Yes, she is. She encountered opposition in her wish to raise me, however. In the end, it was one of the Forgotten Ones, Anaris, who seconded her vote and assisted in the ritual. It was unprecedented for the two sides to work together in such an endeavor. It led to my ability to move freely between their two worlds without consequences."

Shock splays across her face, "The god of pestilence helped raise you? Are you serious?"

He nods, smiling, "Yes, I am. He saw merit in me, just as Mythal had. Though, they were a different set of merits than Mythal's, naturally."

She grins wolfishly, "Oh, this I have to hear. Do tell."

He laughs, "Mythal saw cleverness and a genuine will to help the underprivileged. Anaris saw stubbornness and the ability to cause rampant chaos. Both are oversimplified explanations, but that is essentially the reasoning behind my raising."

"Agreed," she nods, "that does seem rather too simple. I am curious, why do you think they would raise me, as you said?"

"Ah," he gives her a sly smirk, "Now that is a good question. Part of it, as I stated, is your capacity to care for everyone equally. So, compassion, for one. The other parts... you are as clever as I am, you are a thinker, you are passionate, playful, curious, always wishing to learn everything. You lead well, and make difficult decisions with a focus and fairness I have rarely seen in any other. You are open-minded, but what you believe, you believe whole-heartedly. You are without reserve. You protect. You love. And you are beautiful. The decision would be nearly unanimous, if they had the ability to make such decisions right now."

She blushes and smiles, before mild confusion pinches her brow, "Nearly? Who would object?"

He sighs, "Well, Andruil would object on principle; simply because you are my choice, and my mate. The others likely would not have much of an issue, though the Twins often disagree with me, simply for spite. The forgotten ones might possibly think you too pure, but I doubt it. In any case, this is all academic; since none of them are here to object."

"Perhaps," she nods, "but it is still good to know where I stand, should that change. So, you think Mythal would approve? You didn't mention her objecting."

"Yes, Mythal would approve," he chuckles, "She would likely say something to the effect of, 'It is about time you finally found your equal, old friend. When should I expect her for the ritual?'"

Her eyes widen, "Equal?"

He looks down at her, capturing her chin with his fingers, "You are, and always have been my equal, _vhenan_. I was simply too blind to see it before. Mythal would have seen it long before I did. She was always far wiser in matters of the heart than I."

She smiles, reaching up to sweep his hair behind his ear. He leans into the slight pressure, and she rests her palm there, leaning up to press a gentle kiss to his lips. She comes to rest with her brow against his, hand hooked behind his neck, thumb stroking his pulse point softly.

" _Ar lath ma, vhenan_ ," she murmurs, "It means more than I can say that you see me as such. _Ma serannas_."

His smile is heard in his voice, "You need not thank me for something that you brought about yourself, _ma uth'lath_. But you are more than welcome."

He tilts his head, leaning down to capture her lips briefly, cradling her face in his hands. He takes her hand as he releases her, "Come, you need to rest and drink a potion. We rise at dawn to break camp and begin our journey. I will speak to your advisors and inform them of the plan."

She nods as they tread back to her tent, "Come to me after that?"

He raises a brow as he looks askance at her, " _Vhenan_ , you are in no condition-"

She interrupts him with the wave of her hand, rolling her eyes, "Not for that. I know I need to rest. But is there any reason for my bed to be cold while I do so?"

She has him there, "I... suppose not," he bows his head with a tiny smile, " _Ma nuvenin_ , I shall be there soon."

Her grin breeds one of his own, " _Ma serannas, vhenan._ I'll see you soon."

With this, she ducks into her tent, untying the open flaps and letting them fall closed behind her.

He sighs, sparing a smirk and shaking his head for his admiration at how well she twists him around her fingers. His equal, indeed.

He moves to the large tent her advisors have adopted as their operation center. They gather at his approach, obviously eager for news from their leader.

"We have a plan. There is a place to the north..."

* * * * *

She digs out an elfroot potion from her robe and uncorks it, tossing it back and swallowing quickly. She feels the rejuvenating effects go to work as she begins to unbutton her robe, untying the sash and letting the fabric slip from her fingers. She stretches her neck as she slides her robe off, a sigh escaping her while she threads it over a pole at the back of the tent.

She pulls the furs off of her cot, tossing them on top of the one someone has already spread on the floor. She folds the cot away and pulls every fur and possible pillow from around the tent, onto the pile of comfort she's creating on the floor. She finds two bedrolls and slides them under the furs for extra padding, testing it all to find it rather satisfactory. Not as nice as her bed at _Tarasyl'an Te'las_ , but luxurious for their current location, to be sure.

She throws a wide blanket over all of it, slipping under it and giving a satisfied sigh as she settles in to wait for Fen'harel. She feels her loosely braided bun pulling at her scalp, so she sits back up, sighing as she begins to work through it all. Drawing the main braid out of the bun, she loosens it, letting the long ropes of hair fall down her back as she moves to the smaller side braids.

All of her hair is down by the time she hears un-booted feet bearing down on the already compressed snow in front of her tent. She feels his magic pooling into the tent, and sends her own out to lap along his in invitation. The tent flaps are pressed aside to allow his form through, though he pauses and ties each flap shut against intruders and the elements, before he turns to look at her. He holds a finger to his lips, then casts a spell that looks remarkably similar to Dorian's privacy spell, but which covers the interior of the tent.

He lowers the finger and they share a smile, after which she points at each piece of clothing he wears individually, "Off, off, off, off, off," she points at his leg and foot wraps, "Definitely off."

Amused surprise pulls his lips into a grin, "Demanding, are we not? Shall I simply strip naked, or does her highness prefer I wear small clothes to her bed?"

She scoffs and sends a wave of magic at him, enough to shove him back a little as a tease, "I'm wearing my smalls, and I'm not queen of anything. No reason to call me highness, you sarcastic ass."

He laughs, "Oh-ho-ho, I see! A 'sarcastic ass', am I? Well then, you must be the queen of sarcastic asses everywhere."

Mock indignation has her mouth open in shock, "I am not! My ass is not sarcastic!"

He shakes his finger at her, "Na-ah, you just said I am a sarcastic ass. As my ass belongs to you, it is indeed your ass. And as you are my queen, you are indeed the queen of sarcastic asses."

She laughs, falling back from where she'd been sitting up to speak with him to lie flat, clapping her palm over her eyes and giggling. By the time she's calmed her fit of laughter, she feels the pressure of him crawling over her. After she wipes the tears of laughter from her eyes, she looks up to see him smiling at her openly. He leans down and kisses her sweetly, straddling her hips and resting on his elbows, seeming perfectly happy to stay there for the moment.

He ends the kiss, nuzzling her nose with his and grinning, "Have I appeased the queen of sarcastic asses? May I get under the covers now? Or does the queen need more appeasement?"

She giggles, shaking her head and rolling her eyes as a blush creeps over her cheeks and ears, "Yes, oh king of sarcastic asses, you may get into bed. You have well appeased your queen."

He straightens above her, then gives a flourishing bow, still straddling her, " _Ma serannas_ , my queen."

She rolls her eyes again as laughter claims her for a few more seconds, "You're welcome," she reaches over and slings the blanket back toward her as she continues, "Now get into bed, sarcastic ass of my heart."

Rather than move, he folds his arms over his chest, one hand moving to curl his fingers over his chin as he looks up in thought, "My my, a new title. I do like that one. It goes well with 'Roamer of the Beyond'."

She snorts and gently smacks his stomach with the back of her open hand, "Only you would think those two go together. Come to bed, 'He Who Hunts Alone', before I go to sleep alone and leave your sarcastic ass far behind in the Fade."

He leans down with a roguish grin, "Is that a challenge, _vhenan_?"

A raised eyebrow and a smirk is the first half of her reply, "Perhaps. You'll have to get in bed and go to sleep to find out."

He rolls off of her and settles himself with his arm outstretched to her, never losing his grin, "Then let the race begin. Come, I will cast us both into the Fade at the same time. Let us see who catches whom."

She slides over to him and lays her head on his chest, flinging her arm across his middle and tangling her leg with his. They fit together more perfectly than she'd ever imagined. Just as their magics compliment each other, so do their physical forms. The thought brings a shiver of delight rolling down her spine.

He nuzzles his cheek into her hair, his arm curling around her snugly, "Comfortable, _ma uth'lath_?"

She nods, relishing the feeling of his bare skin against hers more than she should, for her promised activity of actually _resting_.

He casts his spell over them both, sending them tumbling together into the Fade.

It is an odd sensation; she's never been joined in the same instant on this journey before. But if there is to be a race, she will set the scene the moment she arrives. If she can beat him to it, that is. She glances over at him as they fall to see a sly smirk on his lips, the spark of mischief in his eyes. Dread Wolf indeed.

She focuses on her own plan, starting the basic shapes of it the moment she sees the raw Fade begin to form before her. She encases him in a room built of lightning, then bolts in the first direction she sees, his laughter trailing behind her.

She takes the form of the wolf she prefers here, her six green eyes observing every detail as she flies past it. Details which are starting to look familiar. Too familiar. She skids to a halt, whipping about to come face to face with his wolf, which is looking at her with an amused grin.

She growls. He'd been folding the landscape in on itself so she would make no progress, an endless stream of Fade to keep her in one place. She narrows all six eyes at him, flattening her ears in displeasure, then huffing and sitting on the spot.

He tilts his head curiously, nuzzling her, _'Given up already, vhenan?'_

She huffs again, leaning in to reply, then realizing she has no idea how to actually do that. She backs up and looks off to the side, growling in frustration and embarrassment.

He seems to realize the problem, _'Try.'_

Her gaze snaps back to him, eyes narrowed again. She snorts, shaking her head and looking off to the side again.

A more insistent, _'Try.'_

She snaps at him and shakes her wolf form, snarling, "You mock me. It is not a power I possess."

He rolls all six eyes and sighs, nudging her again, _'And how exactly do you know this, if you will not try?'_

She glares at him, "Do I look like a divine being to you?"

' _Yes. But that is not the point. Cole is not divine, yet he can do it as easily as I can. Try. It.'_

"How? I don't even know where to begin. I didn't even know it was possible, until tonight."

' _Project your will through your touch. Choose your words and project them, or choose an emotion, if that is easier for now.'_

"Like my magic?"

' _Yes. It may, or may not work outside of the Fade, but it will work within it. Try.'_

"Fine."

She lays her hand on his head and concentrates on one word to start.

' _Ass.'_

He snorts, _'If you were trying to call me an ass, you succeeded.'_

She grins sheepishly, "I was. Not like you can blame me. I mean honestly, folding the raw Fade in on itself to trap me?"

He huffs a chuckle, _'Yes, well, it was the simplest way to trap you. I'll admit the lightning cage was a surprise, but how long did you really think that would hold me?'_

She laughs as she calls her Fade wolf once more, then brushes past him, rubbing herself along his side as she pushes the memory of a certain explicit fantasy through the connection, _'Long enough to distract you with that.'_

Before he can react, she shapes a hole and jumps into it, sealing it behind her as she quickly ports herself to another section of the Fade. She'd learned that trick ages ago, to avoid demons she encountered. While they don't appear in the raw Fade as often as actual spirits, they are usually best avoided, in her experience.

As she emerges from her portal, she glances around in curiosity to see an already formed scene. She almost forms another portal to leave; she doesn't want to intrude on anyone's dream by accident, after all. But another look has her recognizing the scene with a gasp.

Fen'harel's temple.

She cannot see anyone around, though a pillar is blocking the throne from her view. She creeps over to get a view, though she is not as quiet as she wishes to be, with her claws tapping against the smooth stone floor on every step. She peers around the pillar to see Fen'harel lounging on it in robes of blue and black, trimmed with silver. It matches the statue of his wolf above him perfectly. The robe is open, she notes, and he is... entirely bare beneath it. She swallows thickly as the realization sends heat to her entire body, ruffling her fur.

He appears to find the nails on his right hand, which is raised before him, fascinating as he speaks, "Do you think me blind _and_ deaf, _vhenan_? I know you are there. I also know that you are staring," he slowly turns to focus on her with a smug smirk, "If the view entrances you so, perhaps you should have a closer look?"

Her eyes are wide as his voice seems to have frozen her in place for the duration of his speech; though it is, of course, far more likely that she was stunned into shock, than him actually holding her there on purpose. Another wave of heat surges over her skin at his invitation. She hesitantly takes a single step, her head lowered as she watches him with every eye, looking for any trick, any deception.

She finds none, and takes another few steps.

He watches her, amusement playing over his lips. He rests his chin on his fist, waiting patiently.

She urges her limbs into action, taking the last eighteen steps in one go; then comes to the foot of the three steps leading up to his throne and sits, looking up at him. From this angle, she can see his robed lower legs, and his very bare chest and face, which he has relieved his fist of. His hands are now folded in front of him loosely, a smirk still tugging his lips.

"You are rather more timid now than the she-wolf that pressed such a _luscious_ scene into my head mere moments ago. What changed between then and now? Is the invitation not clear enough?"

She looks down to the side, considering. This _is_ her fault, after all. She did indeed give him a fantasy she'd had of taking him on his throne. But to actually be confronted with the possibility of fulfilling it-

Fuck it.

Or rather, _him_.

She recalls the sheer silk robe she'd been wearing in the fantasy, forming it around her as she closes her eyes and shakes the wolf off. Blue, black, and silver, to match his, but far more revealing than his could ever hope to be. She opens her eyes enough to look up at him through her lashes with a coy smile, head bowed, arms spread to display herself in all her glory.

"Is this closer to what you were expecting, Fen'harel?"

His lip is caught between his teeth, nostrils flaring with a sharply inhaled breath as he takes in the vision before him. It takes a moment for him to compose himself enough to respond, and his voice is rough and low when he answers.

"No. It is far, far better than what I expected. As exquisite as your fantasy was, _ma lath_ , it is nothing compared to this."

She smiles, "I am glad to hear it."

She moves up the steps and stands before him, her knees pressing the front of the seat on his throne, her hands resting beside his on the arms. She leans in, claiming his lips with hers; whispering a spell against his flesh that has magic reaching down to her robe, unlacing it slowly to match his state of undress. She lifts her hands to the sides of his neck, pulling him deeper into the kiss, which he willingly obliges to.

When she feels his hands on her, she stops, backing off quietly. She takes his wrists gently in her hands, moving them back to the arms of his throne, keeping eye contact the entire time.

"No," is all she says, pressing down on his wrists before resuming her previous activities.

One of her hands trails a path of magically-induced heat down his chest, all the way down to his quickly hardening shaft, curling her fingers around its base gently as her lips blaze a trail of their own down to his jawline. She nibbles her way from his chin, to just below his ear; her hand moving inch by inch in time with her mouth, from the base to the tip. She takes his ear lobe into her mouth, following as he leans his head to the side to give her better access with a heady groan. She nibbles on it, pulling it gently with her tongue and teeth, suckling it and mimicking the motions on the head of his manhood teasingly.

She pushes to him the image of her, on her knees before him, her lips on his arousal instead of his ear lobe; another tease, one that elicits a groaning, tortured growl from the back of his throat.

She slides up the bottom edge of his ear with her tongue, her fingers marking the same path on the bottom of his erection, feeling it jerk away from her in excitement as he gasps when she nibbles on the tip of his ear.

Inch by inch, she kisses and licks and nibbles her way down from his ear, his neck, his chest; giving special attention to only one of his nipples, leaving the other unsatisfied. She moves down his ribs, feathering her lips over the sensitive skin on his side, seeing and feeling the muscles tense and relax there in response. She reaches his hip and nips gently, tearing a growl from his throat, before soothing the spot with her tongue and lips.

She lathes her tongue along the last swath of skin between hip and cock, laying both hands on his thighs as she sinks to her knees. She turns her face, wetting her lips and wrapping them around the side of him, licking and suckling her way up to the head slowly to the music of his hissing groans. She finishes the upward trek with taking just the head into her mouth, hollowing her cheeks and teasing the bottom with her tongue as she lets him fall from her mouth with a wet pop.

His entire upper body reacts, curling inward with a shudder. She looks up at him, noticing for the first time that his arms are shaking, his knuckles white with the grip he has on the arms of his throne. She smiles in understanding, placing her right hand over his left, curling her fingers around his wrist and gently lifting. She guides his hand to rest on the side of her neck, and is surprised when he leans down to fiercely capture her lips with his, pushing ' _Ma ir'serannas, vhenan_ ,' to her, along with a feeling of overwhelming gratitude. He breaks the kiss quickly, looking physically pained at doing so, taking a shaky breath and nodding at her to continue.

She smiles and lowers her mouth over him, taking him to the hilt and sealing her lips around his flesh, before hollowing her cheeks once more, milking him gently with her tongue as she slowly withdraws. She releases the pressure enough to swirl her tongue around the head easily when she reaches it, flicking her tongue over the hole at the top before sliding back down to the bottom once more.

She can feel his blood pumping through the head of his cock in her throat, and she smiles as she employs a new trick, swallowing to constrict her throat around him. The moan that he can't quite strangle is decadent enough that she returns it as she comes back up, the vibration making him twitch against the roof of her mouth, his hand on her neck tightening on reflex.

She looks up to see his eyes closed, brow tense with concentration. She prods his stomach with a finger, pushing _'No. Watch. You should not miss anything,'_ to him.

A weak, strained chuckle sounds from him, " _Ma lath_ , I believe I mentioned at one point that it had been a very long time for me; if I watch, this will all be over far sooner than I wish it to be."

Her eyebrows raise in surprised understanding, making an 'Oh!' sound, before sucking her way off of his manhood with a smile, as she keeps her eyes locked to his the whole way up.

The moment he is free of her, he pulls her forward as he leans down to capture her lips, devouring her wholly as his magic flows through her in waves, teasing and taunting her, speeding up her heart as he gently leans back, tugging her with him. She climbs onto his throne, settling into his lap and straddling him. One hand fists into his hair, the other slides down his arm to grasp his unused hand, placing it firmly on her ass cheek as she begins to grind her wet cunt along the bottom of his erection.

She swallows both of their moans eagerly, her now free hand moving down between them to cup the top side of him against her, building him up slowly for what would happen in moments, if she can hold out that long. His magic is making waiting more than difficult. She decides to fight fire with fire, pulsing hers against his in a dance of sexual energy that tightens his grip on her skin, a fluttering moan lifting from deep in his chest.

She can't wait any longer.

She lifts up at the top of her grinding motion, pressing on him just enough to position him, and lowering herself onto him in one fell swoop. Their kiss breaks as they both cry out in varying tones; hers a shout of surprised ecstasy, his a growling moan squeezed through clenched teeth. He wastes little time, her head is thrown back and her chest on perfect display; an open invitation which he gladly accepts, dipping to fill his mouth with her breasts, lavishing attention on each one lovingly as she begins to rise and fall over him.

The hand she used to push him into her is now braced on his thigh; her other hand eagerly pulling him to her breasts, fingers clenching and relaxing in his hair as she guides his mouth to be rougher or gentler by her touch. Her nipples are hard peaks when she finally pulls him away, her lips returning to his as she gasps breathlessly against him.

"Take me, Fen'harel. Claim your mate!"

Before she can blink, he's behind her, one arm wrapped around her stomach like a steel band, the other hand teasing her breasts. He spears into her relentlessly as his mouth slinks down the side of her neck, nestling into the crook of her neck and shoulder, clamping down enough to hold her there as his pace increases, soft growls slowly growing louder and more frequent against her skin. His magic enfolds her completely, dwarfing her own and pushing it back inside her, like he is pushing inside her; a sensation that would bring fear in any other situation only bringing elation here, as he takes complete control.

The role reversal drives her to new heights as his magic tightens, pushing her farther than it ever has before, driving her over the edge so quickly that it should be embarrassing. But she is in such euphoric bliss, she can't spare a thought to care. She screams his name, back bowing out against his steel grip, her head pressing into his shoulder as he continues to pound into her, lengthening her orgasm through magic and continuous stimulation. When she can no longer draw breath and feels the edges of her blissful white going black, he withdraws his magic, slowing his pace to something gentler as she recovers.

He releases her for the moment from his bite, trailing his nose up her neck to growl into her ear, "You... are," he thrusts sharply to emphasize the next word, " _exquisite_. Once we get to _Tarasyl'an Te'las_ , you will not leave our bed for days. I would say _years_ , but we have work to do."

She is boneless, her mind racing to catch up enough to growl out a single word as she reaches behind her to tangle her fingers in his hair and grip with what strength she can muster, " _Mine_."

The word clicks something on in his head, his grip tightening, teeth setting against her skin roughly as his pace returns two-fold. The hand that had teased her breasts now reaches down near where they are joined to trace something over her pubic bone, sending a spark of restorative magic through her. She gasps as her previous energy flows back into her; strength returning to her muscles and the over-sensitivity that orgasm brings, dissipating.

His voice brushes along her consciousness, _'You claim me as yours? Do you truly know what it is you are claiming, little wolf? Do you truly know what it is, to lay claim, and be claimed, by the Dread Wolf? Shall I show you?'_

She tries to look at him, though all she can clearly see is his ear laid low against his head, and a dim red magical glow emanating from the area his eyes and mouth are, reflected from her skin to his. She shudders as she feels him push insistence for an answer; one way or another, against her mind.

She relaxes into him, acceptance and need consuming her, _'Yes. Show me. Whatever comes, you are mine, and I am yours.'_

He growls, his jaws tightening, _'Be certain, little wolf. I cannot take this back, once given.'_

' _Then give it. I am certain, if you are.'_

A growl that shakes her to her very soul crawls through her; like a predator seeking prey, devouring everything in its wake. For a time, she forgets all that she is, only able to feel the wolf prowling within her, seeking her out with frightening accuracy, pinning her at ever turn, raking its claws down her back as she escapes, snapping its jaws into her shoulder as it marks her, thrusting as it claims her. Her mind snaps to from the dream-like state at the sudden, very real pain in her shoulder; a piercing, burning sensation forcing a cry of pain from her lips.

It ends as quickly as it began.

His face is buried in her back as his thrusts slow, arms slackening their grip to a point, though still holding her in place. His hands stroke her skin in gentle reverence. She looks down and gasps as she sees blood trickling from an already mostly healed wound on her shoulder. This... this will scar. There is no question. The fingers of her free hand travel up to touch it, surprised when she feels magic at the site, still at work.

He moves his head back to her shoulder as he explains, "The magic allows the scar to form. It is healed, but scars take time to form. The rune will protect it from fully healing until the scar is set."

"Your mark is a bite?"

He frowns at her, "It is more than a bite, little wolf. It is a symbol, an indication that none other may claim you."

"Your wolf was hunting me. I couldn't even remember who I was. He hunted and took me; took my soul, my body... is that as you intended?"

He sighs, nuzzling into her neck softly, "What did you think would happen when you asked the Dread Wolf to claim you in his domain, little wolf? I only did as you demanded."

She snorts, "I was rather demanding about it, wasn't I?"

She feels her smile against her skin, "You were. Do you still wish to claim me, little wolf?"

She nods, smiling, "Yes, though I don't think it'll be quite as dramatic as you claiming me was."

He huffs, and she feels his absence behind and inside her as he instantly returns to his seat again, pulling her to him once more, "And why should it be any less 'dramatic', as you put it? This is the Fade, _vhenan_ ; it can be anything you wish it to be."

She looks down at him, eyes wide, " _Vhenan_ , your eyes are glowing."

He smiles, a hand coming up to cup her cheek, "I have claimed you, _ma lath_. That kind of bond alters certain things in the Fade. This is one of them. Once you have claimed me, you will be able to see past it, if you choose."

"I will?"

He smiles, "Yes. Your eyes will glow the same for me once it is done."

She nods in understanding, then smiles, a thought coming to her mind. She leans in and claims his lips, threading the fingers of both hands through his hair as she takes control once more; her magic fanning out to flick against him gently at first, only teasing. Then, she begins to dig deeper, her magic reaching for places that entice and excite, tease and delight. It teases and tantalizes all of his secret places, dragging a growling groan out from somewhere deep in his lungs. His fingers curl into her skin, clawing her back as his teeth nip her lip harshly, taunting a whimpering moan from her throat.

He releases her lip and she breaks the kiss, leaning back and lifting herself up with a smile, finding and angling herself back down around him, sinking down with a lustful sigh as she bites her own swollen lip. She moves forward as she begins to ride him, flicking her tongue over the top edge of his ear while she pulses her magic against him with every downward thrust, his muscles tensing with building pleasure as he slowly writhes beneath her.

She bites the tip of his ear smartly, inducing a grunt of pain and a warning growl from him, which she summarily ignores, indicating so with a particularly forceful thrust of her hips and magic both. She grins as he curls in on himself, his brow resting on her shoulder for a time, catching his breath. When he lifts his head again, she continues from the tip of his ear, down the bottom edge. She gives a nip to his ear lobe, then continues on a path down his neck, leaving kisses and bites in her wake.

He tilts his head to the side as she reaches the place she is to mark him. She opens her jaw wide, teasing his skin with her hot breaths and the very tips of her naturally sharp canines. She feels him tense in anticipation, but instead of biting him, she closes her lips on the spot, only scraping her teeth on the skin, her lips following and soothing any irritation.

When she kisses the place again is when she truly begins. She sends a powerful pulse into her magic, and pushes a scene into his mind as strongly as she can-

Her Fade wolf stalking him in a dark forest, hunting _him_ as the prey for years upon years, thousands of near misses; a short lifetime of pent-up frustration driving her onward, chasing him, hot on his heels. Then, _finally_ , she catches his true scent. Now it is a real hunt. She catches the trail, following it without hesitation, every ounce of power she has coming to bear, dedicated to tracking him down. He's in her sights now, he turns, snarling; eyes glowing like red beacons in the night. She ducks under his maw, using her momentum to come up and bowl him over, jaws tight around his throat.

There she stands, teeth digging into the Dread Wolf's throat, his legs scrambling for purchase as he lies on his back; a far more submissive and vulnerable position than he's ever been in. She huffs a laugh against his fur; she could tear his throat out with a simple twist of her head, but that is not her desire. She puts a paw on his chest, holding him steady enough to give her precious seconds to release his throat, only to clamp down on his shoulder.

As her wolf bites him in the vision, she bites him on his throne, her wolf releasing the bite as she does, leaning up to howl in triumph. The vision ends as her second bliss begins, riding out the exultation she feels on his cock, flaring her magic through him like wildfire to drive him over the same precipice she is joyously tumbling over. They scream their pleasure to the walls of the temple, which echo wonderfully back at them, with the truth that they have both screamed each others' names.

They collapse against each other, brow to brow, gasping in air as if they are drowning. Which, truth be told, they have been. Drowning in each other, in pleasure, in pain; in the bond they now share. It takes quite some time before either of them can conjure the energy to do more than simply breathe. When they finally have caught their breaths, mostly, Fen'harel is the first to speak.

"You wanted me to submit?"

She takes a few more breaths, nodding against his brow.

He chuckles, " _Ma nehn_."

She backs up, looking at him with a quirked eyebrow.

He grins, "All you had to do was ask."

She gives a breathless laugh, shaking her head and smiling, "I'll keep that in mind."

He leans up and presses a kiss to her lips, then relaxes back, still smiling at her. She realizes that his eyes are no longer glowing, and she utters a sigh of relief that she covers with a smile.

She nods toward her bite on his shoulder, "You should treat your mark, _vhenan_. I don't know what you did to mine."

"Ah, yes," he lays his hand over it, a blue glow emanating from it, followed by a red glow, before he lowers his hand, "There, done."

She raises her eyebrows, "That was fast."

He smirks, "We are in the Fade, all magic is fast here."

She tilts her head, "Point taken."

He raises both eyebrows at her, "Really, _vhenan_?"

Her brow pinches in confusion, "What? You made a good point."

He levels a deadpan look at her, "Point taken?" he _point_ edly looks down to where they are still joined, then back up, "Must I say anything else?"

Her hand flies to her mouth as her eyebrows raise in shock; cheeks and ears flushing bright red, "You absolute _ass_!" she laughs, bracing herself against his chest and holding her stomach, "I can't believe you!"

He joins her laughter and shakes his head, then leans up to capture her mouth once more. He murmurs against them as he lays chaste kisses all across her lips, "You-love-me-for-it."

She takes his head in her hands and holds him in place, so she can kiss him properly, sending across, _'I do, forever and always.'_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> By the by, if any of you are interested, here's my info:  
> Skype: shannaleia  
> Tumblr: [Actually-Fen-Harel](http://actually-fen-harel.tumblr.com/)  
> Twitter: [Actually_Fen_Harel](https://twitter.com/Spyke1985)  
> DeviantArt: [ActuallyFenHarel](http://actuallyfenharel.deviantart.com/)
> 
> I'm on Skype 24/7, unless I'm asleep, or not at home.
> 
> Want my book? Get it here: [The Enemy In Me](http://www.amazon.com/dp/B00QZ5AI1K)
> 
> Thanks for reading! If you enjoy the story, or this chapter in particular, please feel free to leave a review with your thoughts! I love reading comments, and reply to all of them. <3


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author's note: From now on, I'm going to be using a combo of the wiki and FenxShiral's version of elvish, because frankly I agree with pretty much everything he's figured out so far. If you want to see what I mean, go to ao3 and search that name, then look for his "Project Elvhen: Expanding the Elvhen Language". It makes way too much sense to ignore. Also, while it does contradict a few elvish things I've said in past chapters, I'm not going to correct them. Mostly because I have this story published on three sites, and that's just too much damn work to correct all that elvish three times over. Fenedhis lasa if you think that makes me lazy. ;)  
> tl;dr: Elvish in this story is gonna be different from now on. Ara'abelas. *shrug* Translations will - as usual - be provided.  
> Also, yes, I changed my screen name.
> 
> Translations:  
> on: good  
> dhea: morning  
> 'ma neral: my pleasure  
> ara'lath: my love  
> su an'banal i'ma: to the void with you  
> harellan: traitor/deceiver/trickster  
> ma nuvenin: as you wish
> 
> * * *
> 
> As usual, hover text translations are available, for the lesser-used phrases. Thanks for reading!

She wakes gently, slowly, in a Fade-induced haze of fulfillment the likes of which she's never felt. Warmth and comfort welcome her to the earth, and she burrows into it gladly. She reaches out to embrace it, the tips of her fingers softly scratching along the edge. Her actions induce the unexpected response of her warmth shaking under her, a sound of laughter coming from just above her head. Curious, she repeats her movements, resulting in an even stronger reaction. A warm hand spreads over her fingers, smoothing them down to lay flat against their resting spot, a humored sigh of relief following quickly.

"I fear you have discovered yet another of my secrets, _ara'lath_. I sincerely hope you do not abuse it."

She gives a slight chuckle through her nose, a private smile spreading over her face. She opens her eyes to confirm that the warmth she is spread over is Fen'harel's body, and the spot she had been inadvertently tickling was his ribs. She gives a pleased, groggy moan, settling back in and closing her eyes.

" _On dhea, vhen'an_. I would ask if you slept well, but I think we both know the answer to that," she murmurs against his skin, pressing a kiss to it and snugging herself to him more tightly.

She hears and feels the kiss returned on the crown of her head, pressed into her hair before he replies with mirth on his tongue.

" _On dhea_ indeed, _vhen'an_. I will freely admit that I have never been so pleasantly coaxed from the Fade before. Knowing that you would still be here when I woke... it made the transition seamless."

She gives a pleased hum as she responds, "' _Ma neral, sa'lath_."

He chuckles and gives her a gentle squeeze, then pats her hip with his hand in an attempt to rouse her.

" _Garas, ara'lath_. You must take a potion, and we all need to break camp, to begin our journey. There is a long path ahead of us; we should be gone as soon as we are able."

A disgruntled groan is the only response she graces him with.

He sighs and pats her hip more insistently, "Come _da'fen_ , your people await."

Her response is yet another groan, tinged with a whine.

He grunts in annoyance, then sits up and slides his arm out from under her head, letting it slump to the padded furs.

Her response is to growl and roll onto her back, looking up at him with eyes slitted through narrowed lids.

" _Su an'banal i'ma, harellan._ "

He chuckles, shaking his head, "The Void holds no dangers for me, _da'fen_. Or had you forgotten? Come," he reaches for her hip and turns her over, landing a smart smack on her ass cheek, "up! We must go."

She jerks away from where he'd swatted her, an annoyed whine filtering up from the furs, where she now lies face-down. She slowly drags her arms under her, using them to prop herself up and sit, rubbing her face. She leans over as she finishes, resting against Fen'harel's shoulder.

"Five more minutes."

He laughs, "No, _da'fen_. Now. We have both rested long enough."

She doesn't move until she feels his finger trailing ice up her spine.

"Ah!"

She jumps up and nearly falls flat on her face, "What the _fuck_ , Solas?"

Fortunately, she catches herself just in time, turning to glare back at him.

"Was that really necessary?"

He smirks, "Not entirely, but it was amusing."

A frustrated groan turns into a sigh that deflates her lungs, letting her body lay back down as her forehead meets the furs more harshly than is strictly needed. Before he can do anything else to try and get her up, she gathers her legs under her and kneels, reaching into her robe for an elfroot potion.

"Fine, I'm up, I'm going. Look, I'm even getting a potion, like you said. See?" She shows him the bottle, uncorking it and downing it in one smooth, practiced motion.

He gives a pleased smile, bowing his head slightly, "Very good. Now let us be dressed and go to meet the Inquisition, before they begin to wonder if we have run away together."

She snorts, "If only."

She pauses as she looks him over, her gaze trapped on the rune emblazoned on his shoulder, which hadn't been there the previous night. She blinks, leaning in for a closer look, noting that it begins to glow faintly as she nears it. The rune is encircled by her wolf's teeth marks, but she doesn't recognize the words that make up the rune itself. She looks into his eyes, raising her brow quizzically.

"Did you expect that our actions in the Fade would not impact reality, _ara'lath_?" he asks; the corners of his mouth upturned, his voice amused.

She shakes her head, leaning back on her heels.

"I... don't know. I'm not sure what I expected. Definitely not seeing a rune on you that I can't read."

He smiles, "You have one as well, naturally. Indulge me for a moment. Tell me what it feels like to you when you look at it."

She raises an eyebrow, "It's supposed to make me feel something specific?"

He nods, "Quite," he gestures towards his rune, "Look closely."

She concentrates on the rune, tilting her head to look at the scrawled writing that forms a spiral pattern outward from the center, intersected by swirling patterns of blue light. It seems to draw her in, as if the magic that created the rune, also created a physical tether from her mark to his. The effect is profoundly mesmerizing. She gives in to the impulse pulling her to him and lays her cheek on the rune, nuzzling into his neck with a soft sigh.

He chuckles, his arms wrapping around her as he rests his cheek on her temple.

"Exactly so. The magic is quite ancient, woven by Mythal to aide unity between bonded pairs. If you are still curious, she will be able to read the runes to us, if she chooses to."

She nods, which only serves to nuzzle her face into his neck further.

"I'm still interested. If we're going to have runes emblazoned on us for all eternity, I'd like to know what they say, even if I already know what they mean."

She can hear the smile in his voice, "I do not blame you. I admit I am curious, myself. I had planned to seek out one of her shrines to call on her soon; perhaps you would like to accompany me when I do?"

She sits back and nuzzles her nose to his with a smile and a chaste peck on his lips.

"I'd love to. But first, we need to get our people secured."

Standing, she reaches for her robe and slips it on, tying it shut with a satisfied sigh. She finds her staff leaning against the back right corner of the tent and slides it onto her back. She moves some of the furs out of the way enough to unfold the cot, sitting on it and eying her boots dubiously.

"Perhaps just the wraps?" He interjects, as he shrugs his vest on over his tunic, "I can teach you a spell to keep your feet warm, as I do."

"Yes, please. I don't think my toes would appreciate being stuffed back into those boots just yet. And if I can keep my feet warm without them, I'll probably never wear the damn _shem_ contraptions again. Let them call me a heathen if they wish, I'd rather be able to feel the earth beneath me as I walk it."

He smiles and moves over to her, kneeling and lifting her right foot gently as he explains.

"It will sting for the first few days you use it, but once the energy aligns with your aura properly, you will feel nothing but warmth. It can be dispelled as needed, and there is a version of it for hotter climes as well. Observe."

He uses his finger to trace an overly simplified, tiny fire rune beneath the arch of her foot, then smooths his hands over her foot; from the rune, to her ankles, then up her calf slightly.

"There. That will prevent any further frostbite damage for the next week or so. It will need to be refreshed after that. Try it on your other foot," he waves his hands for her to proceed, sitting back to watch.

She lifts her left foot onto her knee, leaning over and trying to trace the same rune he had. It starts to glow as she nears finishing it, then fizzles out. She looks up at him, confused.

He chuckles, "You missed an important part of the rune. Here," he takes her hand and traces the rune on her skin without any magic behind it, the action purely instructional, "like this."

"Ah, I think I see what I missed. Alright."

She tries again on her foot, managing to draw it properly this time.

"Excellent!" he praises her with a pleased smile.

"Now draw the energy over your skin as I did."

She nods and begins pulling the magic from the rune over her foot, ankle and calf as he did. She looks back up at him for confirmation.

"Very good. You learn quickly. Once we get to _Tarasyl'an Te'las_ , I will teach you the cooling version. For now, get your foot wraps on and let us be gone from here. I am doubtless they are all waiting for you to proceed."

She snorts, "I'm sure they are."

She winds the leather straps around her foot with practiced movements, easing them up her ankle, calf and up to her knee quickly, before tying off. Its pair soon follows and she stands, grabbing her boots. She threads the malleable leather on the top half of them through the back of her robe's sash, securing them for the journey.

"It's times like this when I wish I had a pack like you do. I don't know why I never carried one before; with as much gear was we run across in the field sometimes," she muses with a rueful smirk.

He smiles, "It is rather useful to have one. And I agree, it would be nice not to be the only one with some means of carrying all the herbs you pick along the way."

She laughs, shaking her head, "I can imagine. It's no wonder you were so grumpy sometimes, being reduced to the herbal pack mule."

He pauses, seeming to consider her words before replying.

"I believe it was the company, rather than the burden, that influenced my mood. There are several amongst our companions that I would prefer to spend less time with."

"Oh?" She raises an eyebrow, "And who might these people be?"

"Vivienne, for one. And though I wish to reach out to Sera, she seems to have other plans."

She nods, "I'll keep that in mind, then. You don't have any objections to Dorian or Blackwall, do you?"

"No and yes," he sighs, "knowing what I do now about Blackwall, colors my opinion of him somewhat; but I will not deny he is a superb warrior. If he is your choice for that role, I will not complain. As for Dorian, I will endure."

She laughs, "Dorian is a good man, give him a chance. I understand having issue with Blackwall, but he is the best balance for our usual group."

He nods, "True enough."

She watches him finish dressing and pick up his staff, quirking her head to the side as she voices the question that comes to mind.

"Why do you use a staff?"

He freezes in the middle of affixing it to his back, eyes locked on hers. An amused smirk tilts the corner of his mouth up.

"For the same reason every mage in this age uses one: to channel magic."

"Right," she nods, "but you don't _have_ to. It's just how we've been trained to do it, to make it easier. Is that how it was done in Elvhenan? Or are you using it to fit in?"

A slight blush tinges his cheeks, and he smiles sheepishly as he finishes sliding his staff into position.

"I am afraid you have caught me there. It is true I use it as part of the deception of Solas; though using a staff for focusing and directing magic was not unheard of in the time of Elvhenan."

She nods again, her expression thoughtful, "I imagine the transition was odd, going from a foci full of power attuned to your aura, to using a staff that can sometimes prove unwieldy."

He shakes his head minutely, "Not as much of a transition as you are likely imagining. I was trained in the use of a staff before my slumber; I simply did not use it as easily as my foci."

"Huh. Fair enough. How good is your control without either, though?" She asks, a glint of mischief in her eyes.

He raises an eyebrow, "Better than yours, I wager. Why do you ask?"

She smirks, sending a tiny, tightly controlled zap of lightning to his backside with a flick of her wrist, making him jump and cry out in surprise. She grins as he glowers at her, narrowing his eyes.

"My Keeper taught me how to use magic properly, long before she taught me an easier way. Shall we have a game, _ara'lath_? Let's see who truly needs a staff, and who doesn't. First of us to pull out a staff in a fight, loses one point. The other gains a point. At the end of each day, we tally it up. The winner at the end of each week chooses a favor from the loser."

He crosses his arms over his chest as he gazes at her, considering. After a few moments, he chuckles.

"You do realize you will end up owing me quite a few favors, if you truly insist on this game of yours, _da'fen_? Perhaps you should desist, lest you find yourself indebted to me for eternity."

She stands and dispels the privacy ward he'd erected the previous night with a devious smirk, brushing past him to untie the tent flaps. She turns as she finishes, regarding him with a smile born of confidence.

"We shall see, _sa'lath_. I am already pledged to you for eternity, so if I am to be indebted as well, it will be a small thing."

He smirks, " _Ma nuvenin, da'fen_."

She chuckles and ducks out of the tent, noting the sun has already peaked the mountains on the east side of the valley, to indicate the arrival of mid-morning. As her eyes adjust, she casts about for signs of her advisers, spotting Cass standing over the impromptu war table with a look of intense concentration. Cullen is nearby, speaking with one of his lieutenants. The camp, in general, is bustling with activity; hundreds of people packing up, dismantling tents and settling their burdens on horses and brontos alike. She barely hears Leliana's steps before she reaches her side.

"How are you feeling?"

Lavellan turns and gives her spy master a smile, "Well, mostly. I'm not completely healed yet, but what swelling I had is mostly gone. And my toes, well, you can see for yourself."

Leliana gasps as she looks down, "Herald! Are you trying to make the frostbite worse? Why are you not wearing your boots?"

Lavellan smiles and gestures to her, "Give me your hand, I'll show you why."

Leliana raises an eyebrow, but complies hesitantly, laying her hand over Lavellan's outstretched palm.

"Solas taught me this a few minutes ago, it's quite useful."

She draws the same fire rune over Leliana's palm, quickly drawing the magic out and around her wrist, before releasing her entirely.

Leliana blinks, raising her hand to look at the rune as it quietly fades into her skin.

"It's... warm. And a little prickly. It almost feels as if I'm holding it slightly too near a campfire. What an interesting spell! Can you match it on the other hand?"

Lavellan chuckles, "Certainly. Here."

She reaches for Leliana's other hand, which lifts quickly into Lavellan's. She repeats the spell and releases her hand.

"There you are, warm hands for the next week. The sting will fade over time."

"Really?" Surprise lights on Leliana's face, "It lasts for that long? It is a pity one of the mages in our party during the blight didn't know this spell. There were many nights we could have used this, instead of huddling around the campfire."

"Well don't feel too bad, if I'd known of it last night, I wouldn't have had frostbite to contend with at all."

"Indeed," Leliana's brow creases in suspicion, "I wonder that he did not teach it to you before this. He's had plenty of opportunity."

Lavellan smiles easily, "Well, you have to admit, the possibility of me getting my digits frozen wasn't really imaginable before last night. In any case, I know now; and he says he can teach me a reverse version of it for hot weather as well."

Leliana's expression smooths into her usual serenity as she nods.

"Yes, well, good that you know it now, at least. On another matter, we are in the process of packing up the camp for the move to this fortress Solas spoke of last night."

Just as she finishes speaking, Fen'harel ducks out of the tent behind Lavellan, giving a nod to Leliana as he sees her.

"Ah, good. I was wondering where you'd gone. I hear I have you to thank for the warming spell," she smiles, bowing her head briefly in thanks.

He smiles, "It is no bother."

He looks around, noting the flurry of activity in the camp.

"I see everyone is readying for departure. I shall do the same, if you will both pardon me."

The ladies nod their acceptance of his excuse, Leliana speaking to Lavellan as Fen'harel turns to head toward his own tent.

"Come, we must plan our route as best we can. The others are waiting for your word, to finish packing up and move out."

Lavellan nods and follows Leliana to the main tent. Plans are made swiftly, and soon the valley is bereft of a single trace of their campsite, aside from trampled snow and snuffed fires. They set out moving north; Lavellan and Fen'harel heading up the long train of people and beasts, guiding the way. It is a four day journey from the valley to _Tarasyl'an Te'las;_ though they make good time, despite their heavy burdens.

On the third day, one of the elven children orphaned by the war slips past his caretaker's grasp and runs ahead of Lavellan.

"Race you to the top, Herald!" He shouts as he passes her, his caretaker rushing past to try to catch him. The woman just manages to grab him and pick him up, before he begins the climb up the hillside. Lavellan chuckles as she watches the woman admonishing the small boy in her arms. The woman gives a small bow to Lavellan as she reaches her.

"I am so sorry about that, Herald. He's been impossible to manage ever since-"

She's interrupted by a gasp from the boy, who reaches out to touch Lavellan's face with concerned wonder in his eyes.

"Who did that to you?" Is all he can ask, before the caretaker snatches his hand back; going between apologizing profusely to Lavellan and chastising the boy as she moves back to the main group.

Lavellan shakes herself out of her shock as quickly as she can, but Fen'harel sees more than she wants him to.

"What did he mean?"

"Nothing," she replies, too quickly.

He cocks his head to the side, brow raised, "It is obviously something, or you would not be so quick to deny it."

"It is nothing to concern yourself over," she growls, "It is buried in the past, and there is no reason to unearth it now. It has no effect on you."

There is a quiet pause before he replies, "Very well, I will drop it for now. You still owe me an answer to a previous question, however; one I said I would collect the answer to on the way to _Tarasyl'an Te'las_."

She sighs. She'd forgotten all about it until now.

" _Ma nuvenin_ , extract your pound of flesh, if you must."

"Are you so eager to keep secrets from me, _da'fen_?"

That makes her stop in her tracks.

"No, _sa'lath_ ," she answers haltingly, "I..."

She sighs, "I am still unsure what to think about your plans."

She continues walking, so they aren't overtaken or overheard by their following.

"Your offer to teach me any spells I wished reminded me of those plans. Not that they are ever particularly far from my thoughts, to begin with. But I have no doubt that there are many spells which cannot be cast in this world's current state. Or, at least, not as effectively."

"I would not teach you anything that you did not have the ability to cast, _da'fen_. While the veil may diminish the potency of some spells, it does not render any inert. You are not yet as powerful as I am, but there are very few spells that are completely beyond your reach. Even then, it is because most of them are spells tied to a specific being."

She raises an eyebrow, "'Not yet?' Do you intend to make me as you are, _ara'lath_?"

"That... is not only for me to decide upon, _sa'lath_. Even if I do wish it, I could not accomplish it on my own, and I would not do it without your consent."

"I would have to give my consent to be raised into the ranks of your kin?"

At his nod, she continues, "Is that a part of the process, or something you specifically wish in my case?"

He smiles, answering with one word, "Both."

She gives a short bark of a laugh, shaking her head and feeding a burst of energy to her legs, sending her ahead of him and the group to scout. His offer makes her both joyful and worried at the same time. Joyful, because the space his other self once occupied and the voices of the Well both seem to approve of the notion. Worried, because it is not something she would've ever wanted before now, and it frightens her that she has any desire for it at all.

As unsure of this as she is, she's glad that it distracted him from what the boy had tried to point out. That boy is the only one outside of her clan that knows of her secret; a secret she intends to keep from as many as possible. She knows Fen'harel will try to get her to tell him sooner or later. And while he is the last person she wants knowing about it, guilt over her prideful vanity will likely pull the truth from her lips.

She slows her pace and rubs her arm for warmth as a particularly cold gust of wind cuts through her robe. She looks ahead, seeing the now familiar path to their destination; feeling the fortress singing out to her through the Fade. She presses on, the noon sun pouring light down upon their path.

One more night, and the next day at mid-morning, she catches her first glimpse of it. For the second time, at least. It is just as breathtaking as it was the first time, though her mind is less consumed with wonder and more filled with her relief at finally being back home.

There will be much to do once she is named Inquisitor, and it won't be long now.

Soon, she will be dancing with nobles and playing The Grand Game; soon she will meet the Champion and fight demon armies. Soon, she will once again face Abelas and the rest of Mythal's sentinels at the _Vir'abelasan;_ soon she will face down an ancient, blighted Magister and seal the veil closed one last time.

This time, she knows all the steps to the dances she must perform. This time, she will save Fen'harel's foci from destruction.

* * * * *

A sharp gust of wind ferries her over the first step onto the bridge, sending a familiar chill up her spine. She's definitely home now. She chuckles and shakes her head, moving on to guide the Inquisition over the long bridge and into the fortress proper.

There is a moment where everyone pauses once they make their way inside, gaping at the majesty of the ancient place. She spares a private smile for herself, remembering when she joined them in their awestruck moment of calm. It soon passes, though many will continue to wonder at their luck in finding such a place for weeks.

Her feet carry her up the stairs to the small room just to the side of the gates, heading through the door on the left to overlook the people still pouring into _Tarasyl'an Te'las_. She leans over on the half wall for a better view, stretching tired and aching muscles in the process.

She hears muffled footsteps behind her, looking over her shoulder to find Fen'harel approaching her side. He takes a similar position next to her, though his eyes gaze at her, rather than the people and beasts still making their way through.

"It is good to be home, is it not?"

She gives an affirmative hum in response, nodding before she turns back to watch the last of the Inquisition's civilians filter into the keep. The children and the injured follow, while the main forces move to set up camp in the valley below.

"I would enjoy walking the grounds with you, after the ceremony is complete. If you will join me, that is."

She rests her chin on her shoulder and smiles at him, then turns back with a sigh and a nod.

"I would like that. Perhaps you can show me a secret or two about this place that I don't know yet."

He chuckles, "I doubt there are many secrets you do not know about this keep, as much time as you spent exploring it. But I will gladly share what I know, if it pleases you."

She straightens and moves around him, laying a hand on his back and replying as she passes.

"It does."

He follows her into the small room, "Then it will be my pleasure. Would you like Atisha to accompany you to the ceremony? I somehow doubt they would be happy with me joining you as I am, but Atisha could easily be excused."

She graces him with a small smile, "That would be lovely. Did anyone see you coming in here?"

He shakes his head, "No. The last that anyone but you actually saw of me, I was headed to the rotunda. I can teach you how to use the magic here to do the same, given time."

She smirks, "That would indeed be quite convenient. There were many times I wished to be unseen before."

"I can imagine. But, for now, you must remain visible for the sake of the ceremony."

She nods, "True. You should shift, if you are still coming. It's time."

He smirks, capturing her chin with his fingers and leaning in to lay a chaste kiss on her lips.

" _Dareth shiral, da'fen_."

A faint blush tinges her cheeks as she returns the wish.

" _Dareth shiral, Fen'harel_."

She watches as he smiles and casts the spell to shift into Atisha, rounding to her side and nuzzling her hand comfortingly. She takes a steadying breath, then pushes open the door leading to the makeshift infirmary that's being set up. She sees her advisers across the way, talking amongst themselves. Cass beckons her over, as the others smile warmly at her and depart to gather witnesses.

She steps into her new role with her head held high.

* * * * *

He stands proudly beside her as she lifts the sword into the air, the crowd below cheering her on excitedly. Though the moment is soon over, he will cherish the memory of it for the rest of his years. He huffs a laugh as he realizes just how many things he will be cherishing from here on, now that he has a partner to create these memories with. What has been his greatest fear, for ages beyond counting, is now null and void. His sense of relief at this thought is palpable.

He follows as they head into the main hall, listening absently to her advisers as they rattle off the list of problems the Inquisition must now deal with. No rest for the wicked, it seems.

Not that she is particularly wicked. Most of the time, at least.

Varric slides in behind them, announcing the Champion's arrival in as roundabout a manner as he is able. Fen'harel barely keeps himself from laughing at the rogue's attempt at subtlety.

Her advisers begin to filter out of the hall, moving to their stations quietly after they excuse themselves with bows of respect. He hears her sigh as she turns toward the hall to the war room, pushing the doors open one by one in her wake.

The war table is packed with tokens and reports for potential operations all over Thedas, but she acts on the first three choices without hesitation. Her fingers land on a fourth, then a fifth, her advisers looking at her with raised eyebrows. Leliana is the first to speak.

"Inquisitor, we cannot manage more than three operations at once for now. Perhaps we can do more in the future, but-"

Lavellan cuts her off with a raised hand.

"I'm not asking you to. This Arcanist? I'll retrieve her. It's a simple enough mission. The trainers? I'll get the Chargers to escort them safely. Bull put them at our disposal, it's time we started using them. Same goes for any other assets we acquire along the way. There's no reason for all of your agents and troops and diplomats to be taxed to capacity constantly, when we have multiple means of getting things done. Delegate. Don't be afraid to send me on missions, either. I may be the Inquisitor, but I'll not sit idly by as the world falls down around my ears. Are we clear?"

Her advisers' surprise is quickly followed by understanding and nods, bowing to her wisdom readily.

"Good. Also, while I'm here, send out forward scouts in the Western Approach, Exalted Plains and Emerald Graves as soon as possible. I need to know what's going on there before I arrive. Once I retrieve the Arcanist, I'll likely be going directly to the Exalted Plains. Tell them to find at least one of the keystones in each region and tune ours to them. I have no intention of riding our mounts into the ground before their time, just to get from one place to another. Not when we have another option."

Leliana nods, "It will be done, Inquisitor. How soon are you departing?"

Lavellan huffs a sigh, "As soon as I've had a bath and talked to my companions. I'm sure they all have things they'd like to discuss, and I need to see who's willing to come with me for getting this Arcanist. Make sure you use whomever stays behind. If it's enough to form a balanced group, send them out to do things that don't require my mark. Or have them train troops. Something other than sitting on their asses all day until I need them."

She gives a stern look to Leliana, leaning in as she continues.

"Leliana, don't neglect Cole's specialty for training your agents when he's around. He's an invaluable asset, and I don't want him going to waste, simply because he makes people uncomfortable. Understood?"

Leliana hesitates, but eventually nods.

"Understood, Inquisitor. Shall I expect to see him while you're gone, or will he be joining you for the Arcanist?"

Lavellan shrugs, "That's up to Cole. But I would like him to join me for this, yes. He was a great asset in our last... conflict. I would miss his daggers guarding my back, but he may stay if he wishes. I will inform you, either way."

Leliana bows her head, "As you wish."

Lavellan nods, "Very good. Dismissed. Cullen, I'd like to speak to you before you go."

Josephine and Leliana excuse themselves and slip out of the room, a rush of leathers and silks swishing quietly in their wake. Cullen looks up from writing on a parchment, waiting for Lavellan's instructions.

"When your soldiers get back from Haven, send them to Wycome. I won't be here to give the order, but I'd like this to be taken care of quickly. I will not leave my clan defenseless, while I run around mending tears in the fabric of the world."

"Of course. I'll make a note of it and send the order out as soon as they return."

Cullen hesitates, opening and closing his mouth before he opens it and speaks.

"Inquisitor, if I might make a suggestion?"

She nods, "Absolutely, what is it?"

Cullen gives a worried smile as he replies, "Perhaps take a moment after speaking with your companions to rest, before heading out? None of us slept very well on the way here; I'm sure it would do you some good."

She laughs, "Do I look that bad, Cullen?"

"N-no! Not at all. I'm just concerned, is all. We all need a moment to gather our wits after Haven."

She gives a thoughtful nod, "I'll take it under advisement. Thank you for the concern, Commander; it is dully noted."

Cullen gives a small bow, excusing himself, "By your leave, Inquisitor."

She nods, sighing and leaning over the maps as Cullen leaves the war room. Fen'harel nudges her, sending a thought across.

' _You seemed very concerned for your clan just now. Do you believe sending Cullen's troops will change the outcome this time?'_

She sighs, looking up toward Wycome on the map as she speaks.

"I can hope. I already mourned them once, because I didn't take an active enough approach to the situation. I was too afraid of upsetting the political balance so early in my role as Inquisitor, last time. I have no interest in repeating the mistakes of my past. With luck, this will do the trick."

He nudges her again, _'If you are worried, perhaps you should go to Wycome yourself, after we retrieve the Arcanist?'_

She grimaces, "I'm... not so sure they'd accept my aid. I was almost _harellan_ to them before I left; to come back to them bare-faced on top of it; might do more harm than good."

' _Why would they accept the aid of shems any more readily?'_

She turns and leans against the table, looking down at him with a sigh.

"That's... a valid point. But what of Wisdom?"

' _Is that why you are intent to rush off to the Exalted Plains?'_

She nods, "That is part of it, yes. I wanted to see if perhaps we could head off the mages; give them aid, so they wouldn't feel the need to summon things beyond their understanding."

He growls.

She chuckles, "Is that disagreement you're voicing? I imagine you'd rather handle it differently?"

' _Ignorance such as theirs does not deserve to breathe free air.'_

She raises an eyebrow, "And intolerance does nothing to further our goals. They can learn. They have done nothing wrong, yet. If we can catch them before they summon her, we can bring them here and train them properly. Would understanding allies not help us more than outright killing them, before they've committed any crime?"

He struggles with an answer for a few moments. She is not wrong, but he remembers what she witnessed the mages do to his oldest spirit friend. He's known Wisdom since long before Elvhenan fell; listened to her counsel for ages. She is one of the rarest of the spirits populating his realm. To see her destroyed by ignorance that is so anathema to her existence would be a travesty beyond all travesties. He would not give such a vivid display of his wrath for anything less. He sighs as he nuzzles his _da'fen's_ hand to respond, at last.

' _I will agree to aiding the buffoons, but only for the sake of my friend. I will not be the one to instruct them. I believe if I were to attempt it, one, if not all of them, would be cinders by the end of the day. I do not have the patience to deal with such willful ignorance.'_

She nods, " _Ma nuvenin_. I will teach them the error of their beliefs. I would not wish to allow them the chance of making such a mistake again, after saving them from their foolishness the first time."

' _That is generous of you.'_

She shakes her head, smirking, "Merely practical. _I_ don't have the patience to save them from idiocy twice."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

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> 
> Thanks for reading! If you enjoy the story, or this chapter in particular, please feel free to leave a review with your thoughts! I love reading comments, and reply to all of them. <3


	14. Chapter 14

The trek up to her quarters is a bit more of a labored task than she'd anticipated; what with workers clamoring up and down her stairs, carrying tools, furniture, rugs, paintings and numerous assorted smaller items to clutter up her space. As she and Atisha finally reach her room, they are greeted with the sight of Josephine standing amidst the chaos, directing people and items into place with an iron fist of order. She seems to be keeping a checklist on her ever-present scribe's tablet, scratching items out as they are settled into place.

Lavellan clears her throat loudly, trying to get Josephine's attention. The sound is summarily drowned out by the constant activity around them. She resorts to shouting over the din of noise, instead.

"Josephine!"

One of the workers drops a vase in surprise. Josephine seems caught between admonishing the worker and greeting Lavellan. She decides on both.

"What are you doing!? Clean that up quickly and help Bernard and Trayjen bring the bedposts up. Inquisitor, I'm so sorry about the mess, I was hoping you wouldn't have to see this before it was finished. It shouldn't be too much longer."

Lavellan blinks owlishly at Josephine as she encompasses the room with a wave of her hands.

"How did you manage to get all of this here so quickly? We only just arrived."

"I sent ravens out the moment Solas gave us a location and some information on the stronghold. Supplies were sent directly, and here we are." Josephine smiles proudly. "If you'll give me another hour or so, your quarters should be ready for use. I'm sure you'd like to take the bath you mentioned; I'll have one drawn up for you. Shall I have them bring it here, or to temporary quarters?"

"I'll wait, Josephine." Lavellan gives a small, surprised laugh. "Here will be fine. Thank you for your dedication."

Josephine smiles warmly. "It is my pleasure to serve, Inquisitor."

Lavellan shakes her head as Josephine turns away to continue directing the chaos into order. She heads back down the stairs, dodging two workers carrying her desk up and spying another who holds an all too familiar banner. He is about to pin it to a beam when she snatches it out of his hands.

"Ah! Hey, what are you- oh Maker, Inquisitor! I didn't see you there! Can I have that banner back, please? Lady Montilyet will string me up by my toes if I don't get this hung good an' proper like she said to. Beggin' your pardon, of course."

"Why Lady Montilyet wants to hang a templar banner in a mage's quarters is beyond my reasoning." She sighs. "I will inform her that I specifically requested it not to be hung. You need not fear any retribution, be it toe-stringing or otherwise, on this count. Good enough?"

The _shem_ bows, twice. "Absolutely, your worship, whatever you say."

"Good man." She nods. "Run along to your next task then, I'll go inform her of the change."

The _shem_ bows again. "Thank you, Your Worship."

She sighs as she turns to head back up the stairs, finding it clear for once as she ascends. She idly wonders how Fen'harel can stand sticking around for all this nonsense, running her fingers along the top of his head and scratching behind his ear gently.

She's halfway up the stairs when he nudges her.

' _I can stand it because I am with you.'_

She stops, looking down at him with wide eyes. She hears a huffed wolf-laugh as he slides his head under her hand, as if looking for attention. Her fingers scratch automatically. She decides to experiment, pushing the question across as she would in the Fade.

' _You... heard that?'_

She hears the laughter from both Atisha and his normal voice in her head as he responds.

' _I did, yes. You are full of surprises, vhen'an. I did not think this would work outside of the Fade. Apparently, I was incorrect. It is not often that I am so glad to be proven wrong."_

She keeps her expression neutral as she continues up the stairs, her hand still behind his ear. She pushes a laugh across.

' _You realize this is going to make things both incredibly convenient and potentially awkward, yes?'_

' _Awkward how?'_

She shakes her head as she nears the top of the stairs.

' _Later. I need to have words with Josephine about the Chantry invasion in my quarters.'_

She doesn't have to get Josephine's attention this time, as the Antivan sees Lavellan the moment she crests the stairs.

"Inquisitor! I did not expect you to return so quickly. Was there something you needed?"

Lavellan nods. "Yes, I need to have a word with you. Come to the balcony with me, please."

"Of course! Is something the matter?"

She waits until they've all stepped onto the smaller balcony and shuts the door before she begins.

"Ambassador, who am I?"

Josephine seems taken aback by the question, her expression baffled.

"You... are the Inquisitor, of course."

Lavellan sighs, shaking her head. "Without my titles, who and what am I?"

Josephine pauses, considering for a few moments before she answers.

"You are Mistress Lavellan. You are an elf, a mage... Dalish?"

"Exactly." Lavellan nods. "I am a Dalish elf, First of my clan. I did not grow up in a circle. I do not believe in the Maker, or Andraste. You know, as much as I understand that the role of the Herald is needed, I do not believe I am any such thing. We've discussed this before, yes?"

"Yes, we have. Mistress Lavellan, why are you telling me this now?"

Lavellan smiles kindly. "Because, my dearest, amazing Josephine; I am curious why you would believe that a Dalish First would be the least bit comfortable with symbols of tranquility and templars in her bedroom?"

The ambassador flushes deep red and stammers as she replies.

"But, Mistress Lavellan! You... you represent the entire Inquisition! You are a symbol of what everyone in our organization should aspire to be! Everyone looks up to you for guidance."

"Are they going to be seeking that guidance from me in my bedroom, Josephine?" Lavellan raises her eyebrow. "Dignitaries won't come up here; nobody should come up here, besides the highest echelon of the Inquisition. They already know how I feel on the matter, so there's no need to show off for them. It's all well and fine that I'm a symbol in public, but this is not public. This is private. This is where I will go to relax and be myself, for once. It is going to be my one escape from the burdens of command. Please, Josephine, just go with me on this."

"I..." Josephine sighs. "will have to order new carpets, then."

Lavellan grins, wrapping Josephine in a hug before she can object.

"Thank you, Josephine."

Josephine overcomes her surprise just in time to awkwardly pat Lavellan on the back a few times before she pulls away.

"It is no trouble, Mistress Lavellan. It will take some time to get the carpets in, but it will be done."

"Perhaps you can use some of the old ones for the main hall, or one of the side rooms?" Lavellan hums thoughtfully. "Oh! Maybe for Leliana's workspace? She's spent most of her life in the Chantry, after all."

"Oh, and here." She hands Josephine the templar banner sheepishly. "I snatched that out of the hands of the worker you'd told to hang it. I told him I'd let you know that I took it from him, so he wouldn't get into trouble."

"I am sure Garm will appreciate you telling me." Josephine gives a small laugh. "In any case, I will make certain that no Chantry symbols of any kind make their way into your quarters."

"It is greatly appreciated, Josephine." Lavellan gives a small bow. "Now, I've held you hostage long enough; I'll let you get back to work. Thank you for your time and understanding."

Josephine returns the bow. "You are most welcome, Mistress Lavellan."

Lavellan smiles and opens the balcony door, waving her hand forward to let Josephine go first; Lavellan and Atisha following on Josephine's heels. Lavellan looks about to see that the room is nearly finished during their absence. She realizes with a twinge of regret that this only means it will have to be redone, since the carpets are already in place, with furniture on top of them. Before she can say anything about it, Josephine orders them removed. She turns to Lavellan once the order is given, sighing.

"Well, at least I had not ordered the bath drawn yet. In any case, your room should be ready very soon, Inquisitor. I shall send word when it is finished."

"Thank you, Josephine." Lavellan smiles. "I'll speak with you soon."

"I look forward to it, Inquisitor."

Lavellan heads down the stairs, heaving a sigh of relief. Her fingers find their way back onto Atisha's head, simply resting there at the base of his skull, as they descend the stairs.

' _So, why will this be awkward, exactly?'_ he asks, looking up at her.

She raises an amused eyebrow. _'I'm not going to give you any ideas beyond what I'm sure you'll already come up with, sa'lath.'_

She sees his eyes glow as she sends the thought across. It's the same glow everyone else has when receiving his thoughts via touch. Her eyes widen.

' _You glow when I send something across too? I thought that would be a... god thing.'_

He snorts. _'A 'god thing', vhen'an? Really?'_

She rolls her eyes. _'Well, what do I know about all this? Answer: nothing. I'm brand new to this entire situation.'_

They enter the grand hall and are now heading toward his rotunda as he sighs.

' _Then I must teach you, mustn't I?'_

She smirks. _'Ma nuvenin, hah'ren.'_

He growls. _'I despise it when I hear someone call me that. Less so from your lips, but it still rankles.'_

She chuckles. _'And why is that?'_

He huffs, and she feels embarrassment tinged with frustration across their connection.

' _I may be ancient, but I do not need it pointed out at every turn. It only reminds me of things I would much rather forget.'_

She pushes open the door to the round room, the bare walls echoing their footsteps back at them softly.

' _Then change, and I'll make you forget.'_

She feels curiosity, then nothing. She looks down to find him gone from her side. She looks around in confusion, her ears pricking at the barest whisper of movement behind her. She turns on her heel to see him walking to her from an empty alcove, now in his elvhen form. His head tilts with a curious smile on his lips. Before he reaches her, she carves a feral smile onto her face and heads him off, pressing her hands into his shoulders as she backs him up to the wall. His back hits it roughly, pushing a tiny breath of air from his lungs as her hands quickly trail down his arms to pin his wrists to his sides. She takes command of his lips with hers, her tongue insisting he part his lips as he grunts a muffled protest against her. Her fingers tighten around his wrists as he tries to move his arms, shaking her head slightly and continuing her assault.

' _Vhen'an what are you doing? We can't do this here!'_

She growls, nipping his lower lip harshly as she sends her reply, making his body shudder and eyes close in automatic reaction.

' _Says who? You? You don't make the rules anymore, Fen'harel. I do. Now shut up and let me kiss you, fool.'_

He struggles valiantly for a few seconds, his arms pushing against her hands and his jaw firmly clenches in refusal of her tongue. She can feel the moment he gives in, exhaling sweet defeat, he relaxes his arms as his teeth slowly part to seek her tongue with his. She smiles against his mouth as he leans into the kiss. She gently unlocks her fingers from his wrists, pressing them into place just as she had in the Fade. When she's certain he won't move them, she slides her hands up over his chest, then higher; curling them around the sides of his neck, her thumbs on his pulse points. Her kiss turns to something softer and deeper at the same time, letting her mouth mold to his, their tongues weaving a blissful dance of longing.

He is the first to make a sound. It's a soft gasp of a moan, punctuated by a sharp inhale as she draws his tongue into her mouth and _sucks_. She hears something from behind him that scrapes and clatters, like tiny shards falling from stone slowly being chipped away. She opens her eyes and realizes he's leaned so far into their kiss, that the only part of him still touching the wall are his wrists and nails. They are curling under the plaster and catching loose bits and pieces that eagerly spill to the floor. She huffs a small laugh through her nose, reaching down to pry his fingers from the wall, taking his hands and smacking them to her ass; one cheek per hand.

He growls as his grip tightens, massaging her flesh in his hands. He pulls her sharply to him and slowly, ever so slowly, grinds himself into her pelvis with a dark, ravenous groan. Her eyes flutter shut as the sound strokes her ears like velvet, growling into his mouth as both pleasure and warning. Instead of the assent she expects from him, he trails his hands up to her shoulders and turns them, reversing their positions to press _her_ against the wall. Her eyes flash open in surprise as he quickly moves his hands and curls his fingers around her wrists, holding her there tightly. His pupils are oceans of black lust. His lips, now wet and slightly swollen with her initial roughness, curl into a dangerous smirk.

' _What do your new rules say about_ this _, Inquisitor?'_ he sends across, her title thought in a mocking tone.

He leans in and trails his nose from the dip between her collarbones, up her throat to her chin, inhaling her scent deeply.

' _Is there a clause for the Dread Wolf taking control, or hadn't you considered the possibility?'_

Dopamine crashes through her veins as her mind strains to catch up with this new development. She tilts her head, studying him to play for time. As she starts to understand, a wolfish grin spreads across her face.

' _I was wondering when you'd realize you were home. Seems it's finally caught up with you. I do have a better suggestion than a wall, however; if you're willing to hear it.'_

His raised eyebrow and nod signal her to continue.

She raises her own eyebrow. _'Shall we go see if our bath is ready?'_

A pleased smile is the only answer required. He releases her wrists and steps back, holding his hand out from his side.

"Lead the way, _Inquisitor_."

She narrows her eyes at him, growling at his mocking tone, but moves toward the door to the great hall, hands clasped behind her back; the very picture of self control. He opens the door for her, head slightly bowed with a hint of a smirk as he looks up at her through his lashes. The hall is sparsely populated; only two _shems_ with ridiculous Orlesian clothing and masks tittering at each other in a corner. They summarily ignore the two elves walking through the hall, likely supposing them to be servants. Typical.

They arrive at the door to her quarters - no, she realizes: _their_ quarters - swiftly and once again, he opens the door wide for her, with a smirk that seems to have developed into something utterly self-gratifying. She nearly doesn't hold back her snort of amusement at the sight, as she breezes through the doorway on silent footfalls. She tilts her head to listen for activity further in her actual room, hearing a single pair of heeled shoes striding lightly to the door. Josephine comes through the door, just as they reach the first corner of the entryway. She sees them as she turns, closing it behind her.

"Ah! Mistress Lavellan, I was just about to send for you. Hello, Messere Solas; are you settling in alright?"

He nods. "Hello, and I am, thank you."

"I am glad to hear it." She smiles. "Let me know if there's anything that you need. I'm sure I can procure it."

"I appreciate the offer, Lady Montilyet. I will let you know if I think of anything."

"Very good. Ah, Mistress Lavellan, your room and bath are ready. Shall I send for some refreshments, or will that be all?"

Lavellan smiles warmly and pats Josephine's arm.

"No, thank you Josephine. You've been extremely helpful and I greatly appreciate it, but I'll be fine. I would, however, like it to be known that I am not to be disturbed. I've realized I'm more exhausted than I thought; Solas is here making sure I don't pass out before I make it to my bed." She chuckles, swaying slightly to emphasize her point.

Josephine's hand flies to her mouth as her lips form a shocked 'O'.

"My goodness! I am so sorry, I wasn't aware! Don't let me keep you any longer, then. Sleep well, Mistress Lavellan, and thank you for helping her, Messere Solas. That is very kind of you."

He shakes his head with an easy smile. "It is no trouble. Good day, Lady Montilyet."

She nods to him, then Lavellan. "Good day, Messere Solas, Mistress Lavellan."

Lavellan smiles. "Good day, Josephine."

They continue on, moving to the second door. Lavellan looks over her shoulder when she hears the outer door close, confirming that Josephine is indeed gone; nodding to herself and exhaling a sigh of relief.

A darkly amused chuckle climbs its way out of Fen'harel's throat.

"What is so amusing, pray tell?"

He opens the door and holds it for her. She stands her ground, crossing her arms over her chest and raises an eyebrow, pursing her lips as she waits for him to explain. His smirk grows into a wicked grin as he leans in next to her ear, lowering his voice to a purring growl that resonates powerfully with magics held deep inside her soul.

"The ease with which you weave an air-tight web of deception is intoxicating. I very nearly took you right in front of the kind Ambassador. The tales the ignorant tell of my lies and schemes should be about you, instead. You have mastered a skill in a few short years that took me centuries to properly control. I shall take great pleasure in watching you dazzle, destroy and reshape the _shemlen_ empires with your mastery of the art, _vhen'an_."

She blushes, raking a fallen strand of hair that is making her skin itch intensely; nerves made raw by the excess blood feeding them. She swallows hard, pressing a smile to her lips.

"It's not intentional, really. It just comes to me when I need it. It's like instinct, at this point."

"That is what makes it so beautiful." He gifts her with a sly smile. "It is as natural for you as breathing. If it were forced, others would notice and see through it. Instead, all fall prey to it and are none the wiser."

She cants her head, narrowing her eyes. "And if I were to one day turn this talent of mine on you, how would you react?"

He raises an eyebrow, his smile falling. "If you ever find you have the need to lie to me, then I have utterly failed, _vhen'an_. I would likely deserve the deception, at that point. I fervently hope we never come to such a juncture."

She purses her lips, arms unfolding as she reaches for him, closing in on him and pressing her forehead to his.

"As do I, _sa'lath_."

She cards her fingers through his hair, angling her head to capture his lips with hers in a soft caress. She smooths his hair behind his ear as she pulls away, starting to move into her room, but he is having none of it. He drags her back to him, spinning them to press her against the wall, his lips parting as he presses his teeth against her pulse point, just below her jaw. Her gasp of surprise quickly morphs into almost a whimper of a moan as his teeth are soon replaced with lips, gently drawing her skin into his mouth and releasing with a tiny pop. His tongue slides up beneath her ear lobe, teasing the flesh between his teeth as he presses his body flush against hers, leaving no escape.

"Mine," he growls lowly, dragging his fingers from her arms to her hips and down her thighs, pulling them up to rest around his waist as he returns his hands to her rear. A delicious groan rumbles up from deep within his chest as he grinds into her core. His fingers greedily delve into her flesh as he claims her lips hungrily, his kiss both desperate and patient as he teases her.

He gathers her tightly into his arms. She feels the welling of his mana around them just before he casts, throwing them up the stairs and over to the bed in quick succession. She giggles at his impatience, earning a gentle smack of reprimand to her left ass cheek. She inadvertently lifts herself up in surprise, which only serves to make him falter with a moan as she slides up his clothed erection. He gives a gentle nip just over her robed breast and she arches into it, clinging to him.

He leans forward and lets them tumble to the bed, climbing over her and securing her wrists above her head with magic, a temporary solution for now. He shakes his head, clicking his tongue in disapproval.

"You are wearing far too much clothing, _vhen'an_. This simply will not do."

She laughs, looking up at him with a grin. "Well, you're the one who decided to bind me so I couldn't move. You can hardly blame my clothing on me at the moment."

"Fair point." He hums thoughtfully at this. "I'll forgive you then, this time."

She bursts into a laughter that he somewhat quiets with a smiling kiss, though they're both holding back chuckles.

He rolls over beside her, laying on his side with his head propped on his palm. He rolls his eyes and releases the magical binding on her wrists with a sigh.

"So, I believe a bath was mentioned? Perhaps we should indulge in such luxury before I tether you to the bed for a year."

"A year now, is it?" She chuckles. "I seem to recall someone saying we had work to do."

"Yes, yes, oh voice of reason." He sighs. "Thank you for piercing my fantasy. What ever would I do if you didn't remind me?"

She laughs and rolls to her side, cupping his cheek with a hand and planting a kiss on his lips.

"You know very well if we didn't have to, we'd never leave here. If I must be the voice of reason, then so be it. The sooner we are done with our work, the sooner we may indulge our desires."

"You make a compelling argument, _vhen'an_." He raises an eyebrow, nipping her lower lip before she can escape. "I feel more enthusiastic already."

She laughs and sits up, turning to slide off the bed, but his arm snaking around her middle halts her progress with an abrupt slide backwards, ending with his teeth gently sinking into her hip. Her hand fists into his locks as her breath hitches in her throat, an intense burst of heat spiraling into her core as she presses him to her firmly. He slides his hand under her robe, settling over her smalls and caressing her mound as she rocks against his hand eagerly.

"You... are an evil tease," she manages, between gasps of breath, her heartbeat ramping up to hammer against her lungs.

He chuckles darkly as he tightens his jaw, then slips off of her, his hand gently dragging away and moving from beneath her robe. He sits up and slides off the bed quickly, grabbing her hands to pull her with him. She stumbles into him, her legs gone weak after his teasing. He holds her until she straightens, blushing furiously.

"Evil." She shakes her head and glares at him before she turns toward the bath, a glazed bronze and porcelain affair, large enough for three and unclasping her armor as she approaches. Her chest plate and gloves fall to the floor, followed by the slump of her robe. Her smalls are next on her list, but before she can get to them, she feels the warm press of skin on her back and his hands reaching to unwrap them himself. She lays her head back on his shoulder, her hands sliding to his thighs, fingers curling behind and pulling them invitingly toward her.

He voices his approval with a soft growl, freeing her breasts and letting the band fall to the floor as he cups them, slowly flicking his thumbs over her nipples. His hands move down her sides, abandoning her breasts to slip his fingers beneath her lower smalls, sliding them down and off of her hips to fall to her feet. His hands curl over her inner thighs, thumbs teasing her outer folds as he nuzzles into the rune on her shoulder, kissing the skin there and savoring her with a contented sigh.

"You are exquisite. I could worship your body for all eternity and it would not be enough. _Emma vhen'an'ara_."

She curls her hips back against him, caressing his hardness with the flesh of her cheeks as she threads her fingers into his hair and tilts his head to bring his lips to hers. Their kiss is a clash of teeth, lips and tongue; uncaring in their eagerness to devour each other whole. His hips rock into her harshly, a groan escapes him that sends her toes curling with the hunger of it. His hands grip her thighs and spread her with his fingers, dipping into her folds to find them slick and ready. He coats his fingers in her wetness and slicks them up to her clit, rubbing gentle circles that entice a ragged moan from her throat as he angles himself under her, pressing his tip against her entrance. He holds back, barely, sending across a desperate plea as his fingers tremble in anticipation.

Her nod against his lips is all he needs. He sends himself home, plunging into her depths with as much restraint as he can muster, holding there as their kiss breaks with their cries of lust. He waits until he feels her relax around him, then slowly begins to rock against her. His face buried in her shoulder as he whispers words of worship into her skin. Passion and peace flow through her in equal measure, a sense of rightness filling her as pleasure rolls through her spirit like gentle waves lapping against the shoreline of her consciousness.

This is the moment she has longed for, ever since she was young, though she didn't realize it until now. Fulfillment drapes her in its loving arms as she presses back against him, their rhythm drawing into a perfect balance, a beautiful synchronization as their flesh melds and their souls merge seamlessly. Their mana flares, pulsing and teasing through their flesh with alternating light and heavy touches, pushing them ever onward. The moment they peak rushes in quickly, but is no less delicious for the haste of it as it burns through them with the rage of an inferno.

Her mind is hazy as the white bliss slowly fades, leaving her to realize she is braced against the wash tub with shaking arms. Fen'harel still clings to her tightly, his face buried between her shoulder blades once more as he recovers. She chuckles, reaching down and flicking her fingertips through the water. Its warm invitation draws her in and tempts her as strongly as any demon's offer. Fen'harel loosens his grip and slips out of her, the sensation sending a shudder up her spine. She hears his amusement as she slumps down against the edges of the tub, recuperating.

He steps into the water, sinking gently into its shallow depths and maneuvering until he is face to face with her, smiling. He reaches for her, leaning up to press a kiss to her mouth. He ends it quickly but reluctantly, and rests his brow on hers before he parts from her.

"Come, _sa'lath_." He gestures to the bath in invitation.

She gives a wry chuckle. "I already did."

He laughs, his eyes sparkling with mirth. "As did I, but I have more innocent intentions in mind now."

"Oh, you do, do you?" She smirks. "Are you sure this isn't just a ploy to have bath sex?"

He laughs again, ending in a snort of derision this time. "Are you saying you would object to such a ploy, if it existed?"

She shakes her head. "Not in the slightest." She grins. "But I would like to get clean sometime today, if it's all the same to you."

He appears to be pondering this seriously, but she can see the edges of the smirk he can't quite hold back.

"I believe I can contain myself, for a few minutes, at least."

" _Only_ a few minutes?" She snorts as she slowly stands, wobbling slightly on unsteady hips and steps into the tub. "My my, but we are eager, aren't we?"

She's turned away from him as she starts to lower herself into the water, but she can hear the soul-deep conviction that coats his words.

"Only for you, _'ma uth'lath_. Only for you."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> By the by, if any of you are interested, here's my info:  
> Skype: shannaleia  
> Tumblr: [Actually-Fen-Harel](http://actually-fen-harel.tumblr.com/)  
> Twitter: [Actually_Fen_Harel](https://twitter.com/Spyke1985)  
> DeviantArt: [ActuallyFenHarel](http://actuallyfenharel.deviantart.com/)
> 
> I'm on Skype 24/7, unless I'm asleep, or not at home.
> 
> Want my book? Get it here: [The Enemy In Me](http://www.amazon.com/dp/B00QZ5AI1K)
> 
> Thanks for reading! If you enjoy the story, or this chapter in particular, please feel free to leave a review with your thoughts! I love reading comments, and reply to all of them. <3


	15. Chapter 15

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, so there's gonna be a bit of a change in translations this chapter, as we'll be delving a bit into Qunlat for certain interactions. Sorry if that bugs anyone. I'm getting all the words from the Qunlat wiki, so if it's all totally fucked to hell, then blame the wiki. Or me. Whatever. Also, yes, we're going to have a bit of canon dialogue. I'm sorry. It was unavoidable in this case.
> 
> Translations(Qunlat):
> 
> Shanedan: a polite greeting, literally 'I'll hear you'.  
> Hissrad: 'Keeper of illusions', also, 'liar'. Bull's role under the Qun.  
> Ebasit-ra viddathari?: My (very butchered) way of saying 'Are you a convert to the Qun?' literally translated it is 'to be you convert to the Qun?' Crappy, I know. Didn't see a better way of doing it on the wiki.  
> Nehraa-herah. Say-herah, saam.: 'For a time. With time, nothing.' Using it here to say: 'I was at one time, but now I am nothing.'
> 
> * * *
> 
> Translations that are not obvious from context will also be provided in hover text, as usual, so just hover over the qunlat/elvish to see a direct translation!

Sleep had been a welcome event for the whole of _Tarasyl'an Te'las_ the previous night, but the next day came bright and roaring into sharp focus, impressing the urgency of her duties upon Lavellan harshly. She awoke alone, a note on her bed stand that reads:

_'Find me when you have time. -Solas-'_

After rolling out of bed and freshening up, she tidies her braids into the bun everyone has become used to seeing her wear. Today will be all about getting things done, and as Vivienne would say, 'she must look the part'. She shakes her head at the beige affair that's been laid out for her, scoffing at the boots especially. She folds and stuffs the clothing into her new wardrobe, pulling out some decidedly more elvhen fare and dons it with practiced ease. She leaves off some of the more flashy bits that would label her a complete heathen, knowing that even in her home, she must keep up some measure of propriety for appearance's sake.

Appraising her reflection in the mirror above her vanity leaves a smile on her face. It's the first time she's seen herself - in this 'life', at least - without her _vallaslin_. It brings warmth to her soul knowing that she can be confident in her position, without the weight of slavery holding her back and making a mockery of her supposed importance. Most others may not know the truth, but she does. That is enough, for now.

She heads down and out of her quarters, moving forward to the main hall in search of Varric. It's time to meet Hawke. Another ruse to maintain. Her reaction will have to be as genuine as it was the first time, after all. If her head isn't spinning with all the lies she has to keep up with yet, it soon will be.

She takes a breath and opens the last door, stepping out into the hall as a chill runs up her spine from the cold. She often wonders how Fen'harel thought one fireplace would heat up a hall this big. Even burning constantly, it only warms a small corner of it, which Varric happily occupies most of the time. She smiles as she approaches the warm nook.

"Hello Varric, how are you this morning?"

He turns at the sound of her voice, returning her smile as his eyes flit over her.

"A little too warm, actually. You're looking mighty Dalish today; what's the occasion?"

"I decided to stop pretending." She shrugs nonchalantly. "My _vallaslin_ may be gone, but I'm still an elf; not like I can hide it anyway. May as well complete the package and give the show everyone seems to expect."

He leans in conspiratorially, a smirk dancing on the edge of his mouth.

"Are you going to dance naked around the fire and make sacrifices to your gods now?"

She leans down in kind, lowering her voice. "No, no; we only do that on the full moon."

When his eyes widen, she snickers, unable to hold it in. "Gods, Varric, do you really think that's how we are? You listen to too much idle gossip."

He clears his throat, a slight blush tinting his ruddy cheeks. "Yeah well, people tell so many tales about the Dalish, it's hard to tell what's real and what's not. I think your people spread some of them to make themselves seem more wild, to be honest."

"That they do." She nods, grinning. "But it's just to keep _shem_ templars away for the most part. Fear is as good a deterrent as any."

"True enough." He bobs his head in agreement. "So, you ready to meet my friend, or have you come to educate me on the not-so-wild ways of the Dalish?"

"I'm ready." She moves toward the main doors, waving him on. "Don't tell me they waited all night on the battlements."

He shakes his head. "Nah, they're probably in the tavern now. I'll go get 'em and you can meet us up there. Or would you rather meet in the tavern?"

"It's up to them." She shrugs. "If they'd rather stay warm, I can meet them in the tavern. There's plenty of space there for a private chat."

He nods. "Alright then, follow me."

She follows him into the tavern, shortening her strides to trail behind him, though she knows where they're going well enough. At the top floor of the tavern, where Cole has yet to take up residence, they find a cloaked form passed out in a corner by the small stairs that lead up into one of the towers.

Varric nudges the hooded figure's leg. "Hey, wake up."

He sighs, shaking his head as he looks back up at Lavellan with his hands raised in an exasperated shrug. She lifts an eyebrow at him, an amused smirk tugging at the corners of her lips. He looks back down and nudges the shadowed figure a little harder.

"Wake up, elf, there's someone here to see you."

Suddenly, a blue glow lights up their dark corner and a shining hand reaches out to wrap around Varric's ankle tightly.

"Hey, hey, Broody, calm down; it's just me!"

The grip loosens somewhat. "Varric?"

"Well yeah, who'd you think it was? Blondie?" Varric huffs. "He wishes he were lucky enough to look this good."

Something akin to a growl emits from the cloaked figure, who is thankfully no longer glowing as he fully retracts his hand from Varric.

"What do you want?"

"Now, is that any way to treat an old friend?" Varric scoffs. "What'd I ever do to you?"

He flips his hood off and glares at Varric through strands of long white hair that fall over his eyes. It looks as though he has not had very much sleep in the past few months, as dark circles grace the skin below his eyes. The lyrium brands on the bronze skin of his chin and throat form a stark contrast, one that speaks to both his lethality and grace on the battlefield. She crosses her arms with a smirk as he finally looks up over Varric to see her standing behind him.

"Fenris, I presume," she ventures, as she moves out from behind Varric to stand beside him, "It's good to finally meet you. I assume Hawke is around here somewhere, then?"

Fenris looks at Varric in confusion, eyebrow raised. "Who is this?"

"This is her Inquisitor-ialness, Fen'da'len of clan Lavellan. She's the reason you and Hawke are here, which means Hawke should be here for this." Varric looks at Fenris pointedly.

"Fine, I'll get her." Fenris groans as he slowly stands and looks at Lavellan sheepishly. "I'm afraid I am... uncertain how to address an Inquisitor, but yes, I am Fenris, your...?"

She snickers. "Just call me Fen'da'len, or Fen is fine, if you're comfortable with that. Or Inquisitor, in mixed company, I suppose."

He blinks slowly at her, likely still trying to clear the Fade from his mind as he replies, "Fen is a bit too close to what Hawke calls me. I think I'll stick to Fen'da'len, if that's acceptable."

She gives a small nod of assent. "It is, if you can remember it. Some have trouble with it. In any case, I believe I'm here to meet with Hawke, yes?"

"Of course." He nods. "I'll get her, wait here please."

He trudges up the steps and through the door, closing it behind him.

"So, you've certainly got a keen eye to recognize Broody." Varric fidgets. "Have you met him before?"

"No." She shakes her head. "But from your description of him in your book, it wasn't hard to figure out who he was. No mage glows quite like that, and he has no magic besides those brands, so really, it wasn't tough to figure out. Plus, you called him 'Broody'. Hard not to remember a nickname like that."

Varric tilted his head in a shrug. "You're observant, I'll give you that much. You're a lot of other things too, I've noticed. Kinda why you don't have a nickname yet. I can't quite figure you out."

She chuckles, shaking her head. "You could always ask, Varric. I'd answer honestly."

"Nah, it's just not the same." He shakes his head. "If I can't figure you out on my own, I don't deserve to nickname you. It's that simple."

She pretends to pout. "But what if I want a nickname?"

He laughs. "Then you'll have to wait until I figure you out, won't you?"

"Aww, but I was so looking forward to a nickname." She tries to continue pouting, but her grin breaks through. "If you haven't figured me out by now, you probably won't, you know."

He smirks. "Give it time, Sunshine." He pauses, his face scrunching in thought. "Nah, too sunshine-y."

Her mouth flies open in mock indignation. "Hey! It's not like I'm all doom and gloom all the time. I can be sunshine-y too."

"Never said you couldn't. It just doesn't fit you. I'll think of something."

She's about to respond when the door Fenris had disappeared through opens again, producing two cloaked figures. The first one closes the door behind them, then throws back their hood, revealing Fenris. The second leans against the stair railing after they reach the bottom, then sticks a feminine hand out towards Lavellan.

"Hey there, I hear you're the Inquisitor. Pleasure to make your acquaintance, your worship."

Lavellan shakes the proffered hand, tilting her head curiously at the still hooded figure. "I'm assuming there's a Hawke under there somewhere."

"Ah! You would be correct, Inquisitor. Though I'm afraid you'll be disappointed if you were looking for an actual bird." Hawke brings her hand up and pushes the hood back to reveal auburn hair spilling out over large green eyes and a very elven set of ears.

  
[Fenlamea Hawke]

"You're... an elf."

"I know, and so are you! Amazing, isn't it? Varric never managed to put that little detail into his story, so everyone's always shocked when they actually meet me."

Lavellan raises an eyebrow. "You accomplished quite a bit, considering most _shems_ wouldn't allow an elf to claim nobility."

Hawke giggles, excitement lacing her voice. "Hang on, I'll show you how we tricked them."

Varric chuckles, Fenris shakes his head and rolls his eyes. Lavellan watches as Hawke slides a pack off her shoulders and opens it, producing what looks like a helm of some sort, though she can't quite see it clearly. She can feel an odd magic flowing off the item that grows in strength as Hawke slides it onto her head.

"See? This thing is awesome. It confuses anyone who isn't wearing it into thinking the wearer is whatever gender or race the viewer prefers. Might not work as well as it used to; I've been meaning to get it recharged, but haven't had time. What do you see me as?"

Lavellan raises her brow, uncertainty clouding her vision. She knows what really lurks under the mask; but for the life of her, all she can see is the shoulders of a strong, ancient elvhen and a fit, lean body.

"I see Solas. Not his face, obviously; but the body, definitely."

"Well, I dunno who Solas is, but it sounds like the mask is still working. That's something, at least." Hawke snorts and takes the helm off, shaking her hair out. "Anyway, enough of that, we're here to talk about Wardens, right? We can talk about all the fun stuff later."

* * * * *

An hour later found all four of them seated at a table on the bottom floor of the tavern, drinks in hand. Lavellan was still on her first, and planned to stay that way. Varric was into his second, Hawke into her third, and she'd lost count how many Fenris had already tossed back, but it was definitely more than the rest of them put together. Yet somehow, he wasn't slurring a single word. Apparently Varric hadn't exaggerated that part of the story. She'd have to get Bull to challenge Fenris to a drinking contest sometime. The results would likely be song-worthy. Maryden would no doubt have a field day with the new material.

"So who's this Solas you thought I looked like with the mask on, then?" asked Hawke, a secretive smirk on her face.

"One of my companions." Lavellan smiles. "Varric calls him 'Chuckles'."

Varric shrugs when Hawke looks to him for explanation. "It's an ironic nickname, really. He's almost as bad as Broody, really; but when he does laugh, it's a nug's uncle of a thing to hear. Like a giddy evil mastermind or something. It's a little creepy, if I'm honest."

Lavellan almost chokes on her drink. "It is not! He has a pleasant laugh."

Varric quirks his eyebrows at her. "You and I have very different ideas on what pleasant sounds like, your Inquisitor-ialness. Every time he laughs, I wonder if some poor idiot hasn't stepped on a rune he left somewhere, knowing somehow that said idiot would step on it."

"You're paranoid, Varric." Lavellan snorts, shaking her head. "Solas can't see the future, much as I wish he could. You have to admit, it would be handy."

"I might be paranoid, but you have to admit he's not all there," Varric retorts, tapping his head with a stubby finger. "Going on about the Fade and spirits and dreams all the time, it's a wonder he hasn't lost it all."

"This Solas is a somniari?" Hawke interjects, "I knew someone like that back in Kirkwall."

Fenris speaks up. "Ah yes, that boy you dragged me into the Fade for."

"You could've said no, you know." Hawke snorts. " _You're_ the one that insisted on coming."

"I remember, you don't have to remind me," he gripes.

Lavellan smiles. "You two make such a cute couple."

"Don't we?" Hawke beams, throwing her arm around Fenris' shoulders, which he rolls his eyes at. "I love my grumpy elf."

Fenris groans, but doesn't move much more than it takes to lift his ale to his lips. He grimaces as he swallows, looking up at Lavellan as he speaks, "You wouldn't happen to have anything stronger than this, would you? Some Agreggio Pavali would be nice, if there's any to be had."

"We have some, but…" Lavellan shakes her head. "Yeah we don't need to go into that right now."

"Go into what?" he asks, with a confused stare.

She sighs. "We have some, but it's generally reserved for a companion of mine."

"She means our resident 'Vint mage," says Bull, as he turns the corner to stand at the foot of the table.

Fenris sits up and gives a slight bow of a nod to the new arrival. "Shanedan. I'm sorry, I don't know your purpose."

Bull's brow lifts in surprise, then lowers in suspicion, answering hesitantly, "Hissrad. Ebasit-ra viddathari?"

Fenris nods, then keeps his head lowered. "Nehraa-herah. Say-herah, saam, Hissrad."

Bull hums curiously. He grabs a chair and sits, looking at Fenris at he speaks, "Your accent is interesting. Where did you learn Qunlat?"

"Seheron."

"Thought so." Bull nods. "Let me guess, you came there from Tevinter?"

"Yes."

Hawke interrupts before either of them can say more, "I'm afraid we haven't been properly introduced. I'm Hawke, this is Fenris. And you are?"

"The Iron Bull, though most just call me Bull." He smiles. "You're Hawke, huh? Not every day you get to meet the Champion of Kirkwall. We've got a new Arishok, thanks to you."

"Sorry about that." Hawke grimaces. "He wouldn't take 'no' for an answer."

"No harm done." Bull laughs, waving off her concern. "I think the one we've got now will do a better job anyway. If our last one could be beaten by such a tiny person, he needed replacing. No offense."

"None taken." Hawke grins and winks. "Size isn't everything."

"Oh-ho! She's a firecracker, boss. I like her."

"So do I, but be careful, Bull." Lavellan smiles, nodding at Fenris. "She's got her own personal guard. I don't think he'd take too kindly to anything too personal with Hawke."

Bull's brow scrunches up in confused concern as he focuses back on Fenris. "Wait, you're... you're not _the_ Fenris, are you? The one that can walk through walls and rip a guy's heart out of his chest?"

Varric laughs. "The very one!"

Bull laughs and slams his fist on the table, sloshing ale from all of their tankards. "HA! I _knew_ it! Oh you gotta show me, come on, I've been dying to see this ever since I heard about it."

Fenris smirks and leans forward, his lyrium brands igniting and raw power coursing over his skin. The piercing light of his finger comes up through the table, followed by the rest of his hand, which then takes his mug of ale and slowly sinks it through the table. The light fades as he draws the tankard out from under the table and drains it in one smooth movement. He smacks it back down to the table and gives a seated bow as their quiet corner of the tavern erupts in applause.

"That was _bad ass!_ " Bull leans in with a conspiratorial smirk. "Do it again."

"Alright, I think that's enough for me." Lavellan laughs. "I have Inquisitor things to do. Keep the party going without me; I'll see you all later."

Hawke nods and waves her goodbye. "See you in Crestwood, Fen'da'len."

A round of goodbyes are had before she makes it out of her seat; but soon enough, she's strolling out of the door, squinting at the brightness of the open sky above her. She heaves a sigh and nods to Scout Harding with a smile as she passes by, making her way down into the lower courtyard. When she arrives, she's greeted with a familiar scene. Vivienne, Cassandra, and Fen'harel are standing together; with Cole off to the side, sitting in the grass and talking to it. She approaches the small group of companions, lifting a vaguely curious eyebrow. Vivienne is in the middle of speaking as she reaches them.

"This thing is not a stray puppy you can make into a pet. It has no business being here."

Fen'harel shakes his head, his voice terse as he retorts, "Wouldn't you say the same of an apostate?""

It is likely that only Vivienne's intimate understanding of the intricacies of the Game is responsible for the carefully contained curling of her lip in disgust. As it is, if Lavellan did not know her so well, she never would have seen the struggle Madame de Fer went through to keep her face straight.

Cassandra turns to Lavellan. "Inquisitor, I wondered if Cole was perhaps a mage, given his... unusual abilities?"

Fen'harel provides an explanation she doesn't need, but this is not for her benefit. "He can cause people to forget him, or even fail entirely to notice him. These are not the abilities of a mage. It seems that Cole is a spirit."

Vivienne's voice holds the venom that her face does not. "It is a demon."

Fen'harel is calm as he gently corrects her. "If you prefer; although the truth is somewhat more complex."

Lavellan plays her part. "Cole warned us about Corypheus at Haven; he saved a lot of lives."

"And what will its help cost?" Vivienne's voice once again conveys her disapproval. "How many lives will this demon later claim?"

Fen'harel intervenes, "In fact, his nature is not so easily defined."

Cassandra huffs and shakes her head, taking a step toward him. "Speak plainly, Solas; what are we dealing with?"

He jumps at the chance to explain, "Demons normally enter this world by possessing someone. In their true form, they look bizarre, monstrous."

Cassandra is surprisingly calm as she asks, "But you claim Cole looks like a young man; is it possession?"

Fen'harel's certainty rings clear as he answers, "No. He has possessed nothing and no-one. And yet, he appears human in all respects."

He turns to Lavellan. "Cole is unique, Inquisitor. More than that: he wishes to help. I suggest you allow him to do so."

"Don't worry; I'm not going to give up on him simply because he isn't everyone's cup of tea." Lavellan smiles comfortingly. "He's compassionate and kind, and damn good to have around in a fight. He stays. I'm going to have a word with him. I'll speak to you all later."

She gives Fen'harel a smile that only he can see as she turns to meet with Cole, finding the spirit boy exactly where she knew she would: worrying over the wounded.

He speaks in a harried, quiet tone as she nears him, "Haven. So many soldiers fought to protect the pilgrims so they could escape. Choking fear, can't think from the medicine, but the cuts wrack me with every heartbeat. Hot, white pain, everything burns; I can't, I... can't I'm going to, I'm dying, I'm-" He gestures across the space before him to a soldier that goes limp the moment he's pointed out. "Dead."

She sighs sorrowfully, lips pursed as she moves toward him, laying a hand gently on his shoulder. "It's alright, Cole. You don't have to tell me if you don't want to. I know. Want me to get some water for the thirsty one?"

He shifts from one foot to another, pulling at his hand wraps. He nods, once.

"Okay. Stay here, I'll be right back. Don't stab anyone in the meantime, alright?"

He looks at her sharply, a concerned expression on his face. "I wasn't going to stab anyone."

"I remember, Cole." She chuckles softly. "The one the healers can't do anything for. He pulls through."

"I know, I saw it in your head." He nods emphatically. "That's why I wasn't going to stab anyone."

She grins. "Alright, alright; let me get the water."

He nods again and she turns away, heading for the kitchen to get a cup. A flash of green shines from the shadows of the main tower as she passes by, attracting her gaze. Atisha moves out into the light, padding up to her side. She smiles and continues her trek to the kitchen, taking the steps two at a time. She finds the kitchen blissfully empty, and snatches a mug from the drying rack. She makes her escape quickly, before the head cook can catch her borrowing her precious wares. She clutches the mug to her chest, trotting over to the well with haste. Water attained, she makes her way carefully back to Cole, handing the cup to him.

He takes it with a smile. "Thank you for helping me help."

She grins and nods in the direction of the thirsty woman. He carries the water to her, earning her thanks. When she finishes, he brings the cup back to Lavellan.

"I want to stay."

She takes the cup, holding one of his hands with her free one. "I want you to stay, you know that."

"I know." He nods. "I just wanted to hear it out loud." His grip tightens on her hand. "Can I come with you to help Wisdom?"

She squeezes his hand, nodding. "Of course you can. You can come with us whenever you want to."

"But you told Leliana to let me train them."

"Yes, but only when you're here." She chuckles. "If you choose to stay, or when we have down time. You don't have to if you don't want to."

He nods, his hat flopping gently. "I want to help them. But I want to help you too."

"You can help us all, Cole. There will be plenty of time for all of it. I'm not always out in the field."

He smiles. "Good." He lets go of her hand and backs off a step, nodding at Atisha. "Atisha wants to show you something."

She looks down at 'Atisha'. "Oh? And what would that be?"

When she glances back up, Cole is gone. She chuckles and shakes her head, returning her gaze to Fen'harel.

"Well then, shall we?"

He nods and leads the way, back up to the upper courtyard and down into the dungeons. She leaves the cup on the bottom stair, for now. They pass the main holding cells, moving through the door to the outer area, where Lavellan is sure there had to have been an explosion of some sort at one time. He leads her off to the side, slipping into one of the cells that mostly contains rubble.

He shakes off Atisha, holding his hand out to her.

" _Garas'ara, 'ma vhen'an_."

She lifts an eyebrow, but complies, resting her hand in his and steps over the rubble carefully to stand by his side.

"Alright, I'm here. Now what?"

He chuckles. "Now, we go to the heart."

She feels his mana surge as he presses his free palm against the back wall of the cell. A rune the likes of which she's never seen, slowly comes to light over the whole wall. The bricks begin to tremble, then move aside as the rune fully activates, rendering what was once a solid wall into an open passage. It is dark inside, but as Fen'harel takes the first step down, he lights a veilfire sconce on the wall that she hadn't even seen. It illuminates a stone stairway down into the blackest darkness, one she is hesitant to enter. Fen'harel looks back up at her, seeming to sense her hesitation.

"Worry not, _sa'lath_ ; no harm will come to you in this place. The darkness will not remain."

She takes a breath and releases it, nodding as she exhales, then takes the first few steps down. The wall closes behind her, making her jump.

Fen'harel chuckles. "It's alright, _da'fen_ ; it is meant to do that."

She gives a small, nervous laugh. "If you say so."

He pauses, turning fully to her and taking both of her hands in his. " _Emma lath_ , remember when I offered to teach you how to use the magics held here?"

"Yes."

"This is where we must go for you to learn. There is no danger ahead; no demons to kill, no rifts to close, no monsters to hunt. This is a place of peace and safety. I would not bring you here, unarmed, if I thought otherwise."

"Alright." She swallows and nods slowly. "Let's go, then."

He smiles. " _Ma nuvenin._ "

He turns and leads the way down, lighting veilfire sconces as they descend on what appears to be a squared spiral staircase; which finally ends in a wide, flat floor. Fen'harel sweeps his hand out, sending his mana into the room at large, veilfire braziers coming to life at his beckoning to reveal a vast space full of wonder. Her jaw drops as she looks around, trying to take it all in at once. The walls and ceiling are tiled with small, polished stones, the veilfire glinting off of them in a glorious display of light that could almost be magical by itself.

Upon closer inspection, the stones on the walls form murals dedicated to Mythal and Fen'harel, showing scenes that tell a tale. As she stares, she realizes that it depicts the construction of _Tarasyl'an Te'las_ itself. It shows them traveling to the valley where the fortress now sits, and laying the foundations. Next, she sees them binding the foundations with magic. The following scenes are all various stages of planning and construction, until finally they culminate in a brilliantly shining mural of the completed structure.

She takes a step closer to this final piece, realizing as she nears it that the stones are not just polished. They are quite literally gemstones, massive in size and each one perfectly clear and magnificent in its own way. She barely tears her eyes away from the sight, only to be transfixed by a new one in the center of the room, that had somehow escaped her notice until now. Surrounded by four shallow pools of crystalline water is a single marble podium, atop which rests what appears to be a diamond; of a size that could only exist in a world of pure magic, carved - no doubt _with_ magic - to resemble Fen'harel's foci.

Fen'harel stands to the side, hands clasped behind his back with an amused smile on his face. "It seems the heart has won you over, after all."

She swallows, unsure she could even try to speak at this moment. She nods instead, eyes still wide with wonder as she continues to gape at the room like an ignorant heathen. So be it; if she is an ignorant heathen, so much the better. A place of this much majesty deserves to be gaped at for a while. She is reminded so strongly of the vision she'd been gifted of Arlathan that she acts on the impulse she'd had then, and sits, staring at her surroundings. She hears Fen'harel chuckling. He moves to join her, sitting behind her and wrapping his arms around her waist, resting his chin on her shoulder.

"It is marvelous, isn't it? A great deal of thought and effort was put into the construction of this room. If it was to be the heart of my home, it had to be the best of it. I wanted a place where I could be reminded of Arlathan, a true city of wonders. It is but a small taste of it, but it is my taste. Now ours, if you will have it." He angles his face to look at hers, and she can feel his eyes on her like a physical presence, here in this place that is thick with his magic.

She has no words to give him; they are all spent in her stunned awe of it all. She sends this feeling through their physical connection, instead.

He chuckles through a grin and returns his chin to her shoulder, a contented sigh escaping him as he closes his eyes, sending understanding back to her. He will be patient and wait.

She understands fully how she'd never known of the heart until now, but a small part of her weeps for never having seen it before. To have missed this much beauty in a time when such things were so desperately needed... she sighs. With that sigh, she finally lets her eyes cast down to the marble floor, her head slumping with a nod. She chuckles half-heartedly, looking back up at the facsimile of his foci in the center of the room.

"So, is that actually a _diamond_?"

That tears a bark of laughter from his throat. "Ha! Yes, it is. I imagine the sight of such a large one is rather a shock in this age. There were many like it before the veil, but nearly all of them have been cut down into smaller stones since then. A shame, really."

"I'd say so, yes." She can't help but nod in agreement. "I'm assuming that is the heart?"

He hums thoughtfully. "Is my foci the heart of my magic?"

She considers this for a moment, then shakes her head. "No, you are. Your foci is a conduit, just like a staff. It also holds power, but you're what it all comes from in the first place."

"Just so." He nods. "That is the heart's foci. It can be used in many different ways, but its primary purpose is controlling and focusing the magic bound to the keystones. The magic will not work without the foci, just as the foci will not work with any other magic. They are bound to each other. Which is why that particular diamond has been such a closely guarded secret. This fortress would crumble to dust without it."

Her brow furrows, hearing this. "Isn't that a huge liability?"

"Not in this case. There are only two people alive today that can access this place; three if you choose to learn how to control it."

"You and... Mythal?"

"Correct." He nods again. "Mythal has no interest in such things when her own home is still intact and held secret."

She lifts an eyebrow, looking at him out of the corner of her eye. "The shack in the Korcari Wilds?"

He laughs. "That is merely a place she keeps handy for when she is using that particular role; it is hardly her home."

"I was about to say, surely she has better taste than that."

Nodding, a smile laces his voice as he responds, "That she does. You may be gifted with the sight of her true home someday. Only time will tell."

"I assume you've seen it?"

"I have, but it is not my secret to tell."

She sighs, nodding toward the heart's foci. "Alright, show me what I have to do."

He extricates himself from her gently and stands, offering his hand to help her up. She takes it and hefts herself up, giving a nod of thanks before turning her gaze on the foci. He leads her to it, slowly pulling her along until they stand on opposing sides of it. He takes up her other hand and places both of hers directly on the foci, wrapping his hands over hers atop it.

"Concentrate your mana on the foci; taste it, feel the power the heart has to offer. It will respond in kind. It will give and take, just as you do. Focus on that ebb and flow, feel its weight and attune yourself to it."

She nods, closing her eyes as she reaches out. "Like a new staff."

"Yes, but much more powerful. This contains as well as channels; be careful not to draw too much. It can harm you if you use it foolishly, just like any great source of magic."

The anchor suddenly flares unbidden, and she yanks it away from the foci, shaking her hand to silence it.

"No, let it taste the mark. It is only curious."

She raises an eyebrow, but complies, resting the sputtering mark against the surface of the foci once more. It flares strongly for a moment, almost burning; then calms and goes out on its own.

"You see? It only wanted to know you better."

"It's strange. It feels familiar, and yet... not so much?" She shakes her head slightly. "I can't describe it."

"What feels familiar is my magic. The part that does not is Mythal's. Her magic and mine carry distinctly differing flavors, but they do compliment each other well."

"You're right, they do." She smiles. "It makes sense now. I'm surprised the voices of the Well didn't tell me; usually I can't shut them up whenever I am around anything Mythal-adjacent."

He chuckles. "They were likely trying to let you focus on the task at hand. Finding the balance you need for this is a delicate task, but you are handling it well enough so far. I've introduced you; now it is time for you to take control of the situation." He lifts his hands from hers. "I am still here, but you need to stand on your own to let it teach you. I will intervene only if it becomes necessary."

She nods, taking a steadying breath and slowly releasing it as she sets her mind and mana to her task. The raw power that the foci is capable of channeling is a heavy weight beneath her feet. She can feel it, as if it is a physical presence; much like his gaze on her had felt before, but far stronger. She gently sends a trickle of her mana out, tasting, teasing. It replies in kind, a gentle prodding of true, unfettered introduction. She slides her fingers into the grooves of the foci, realizing only then that the very purpose of those grooves is for fingers to grip it more comfortably. Such a creatively practical design. Its cleverness suits its owner perfectly.

She sends a stronger dose of mana into the orb, feeling its response wash over her gently. She smiles. It's almost like it's saying 'hello', with every response. She feels a pulse begin, almost like a heartbeat, slowly increasing in tempo until she realizes with a start that it matches her own heartbeat. A peace washes through her at the realization, the tempo slowing as her heart calms; the heart is listening, adjusting, waiting on her every move. She pours her mana into the foci, nearly emptying herself, but not quite. It responds again in kind, filling her back up with a tiny bit extra. She gifts that extra bit back to it, asking for nothing in return; like shaving the head of foam off the top of a frothy ale. It seems pleased with the gesture.

She nods, opening her eyes and releasing the foci from her grasp. "I think we're attuned now. What should I do next?"

Fen'harel smirks. "You expressed an interest in moving unseen through the fortress, did you not?"

"Yes, I did."

He smiles. "Then I shall teach you how."

* * * * *

It turns out that moving through the fortress unseen is more difficult than she could've imagined before now. Just because one is invisible, does not mean one can also pass through the people one cannot tell they're about to bump into, thanks to one not being able to see their own body.

As a result of her inadvertent clumsiness, there is now a rumor going about that the fortress is haunted. 'Incredibly frustrating' is the phrase that comes to Lavellan's mind when trying to describe the situation. She huffs and heads into the rotunda, gasps sounding in her wake at the door that seemingly opens and closes itself. She rolls her eyes and tromps up the stairs; though it is an unsatisfactory kind of tromping, as it makes absolutely no sound with the spell active. Then, as she reaches the top, her eyes fall on Dorian and all of her frustration melts away, as a mad idea comes to her.

She sneaks up on him - though why she is sneaking with a perfect invisibility spell active, Mythal only knows - and peeks around him, getting a good look at the book he's reading. When he moves to sit in his chair, she follows, sitting on the arm of it before he can fully settle, his arm falling onto her thigh where he'd meant it to fall on the arm of his chair. Naturally, he jumps straight out of his chair with an astonished gasp and the book drops forgotten to the floor with a loud smack. She stands with a giggle he can't hear. He stares at the spot where her thigh had been moments ago, reaching out and patting the thin air in search of whatever it had been; finding nothing, of course. He looks around, expression a bit horrified as he swallows, then shakes his head, slowly bending down to pick up his fallen book.

She puts her hand in the way just in time, grasping his just as he is about to grasp the book. He recoils with a panicked shout, drawing the attention of everyone on the same floor. He blushes as he sees them all staring.

"What are you sods all looking at?" he demands, in a warbling nearly pubescent bravado. They look away, shrugging or shaking their heads.

She grimaces, realizing she may have gone a bit too far. Sera would probably say 'not far enough', but she hadn't meant to embarrass him in front of others, really. She uses the convenience of nobody looking at his little nook to seal off the path to the rest of the floor with the same spell that surrounds her; better than a privacy bubble spell any day. Nook secure, she turns and dispels her own cloak; appearing before an at first shocked and shrieking, then irate Dorian.

After around thirty seconds of pure red-faced explicatives spewing from his mouth, he finally started using regular words. "What in the actual _fuck_ are you doing?! You did this to me, you _had_ to have. _Why_? What _possible_ motive would you have to _frighten the wits_ out of me like that?"

Her ears droop as she wrings her hands and gives him her most pitifully apologetic expression.

"I'm sorry, Dorian; I really am. I didn't mean any harm by it. I just learned the spell and I was frustrated. I saw you and thought I'd have some fun, make a memory, but I fucked it all up. I'm sorry."

He falters, his red face cooling to something closer to his natural bronze as he groans in frustration. "Rrrg! Damn it all and Maker take you. You with your big elven eyes and your sincere apologies." He sighs, rolling his eyes and opening his arms. "Come here."

She walks into the circle of his arms and snugs hers around him tightly. She feels his mana reaching out, then jumps and squeals as it smacks her smartly on the ass.

" _That_ is your punishment. And you damn well deserve it. But I forgive you, you silly, wild elf. Just don't do it again, please."

She shakes her head against his chest and mumbles into his robe, "I won't, I'm sorry."

"I believe you, little wolf." She feels his chuckle before she hears it. "I don't know why I believe you, but I do."

She giggles into his robe and squeezes him tightly before she lets him go, backing up and smiling up at him. "Thank you."

"Yes, yes, don't get used to it." He waves her off. "That 'elf-eyes' trick only works when used sparingly, you know."

She levels it at him again, adding a pouting lower lips to it.

"Kaffas, stop it; I've already forgiven you. Besides, do you really want to show me your best material when it's not called for?"

She grins and winks at him. "Who says that's my best?"

He groans, "Andraste help us all."

She giggles and turns, dispelling the curtain she'd cast over his nook's entrance. His head is tilted curiously to the side when she turns back.

"What was that you just dispelled?" he asked, pointing a wiggling finger at the general area.

"Oh, it's the same spell I'd cloaked myself with. I didn't want anyone to see or hear us when I appeared. Figured I'd save us both the embarrassment."

"Ah." Surprise lights his features." Well, thank you for that."

She shrugs, smiling. " _De da'rahn_."

He lifts an eyebrow. "And that means?"

"It was a little thing. Or, more simply: no problem."

"I see. Pray tell, what is the elvish for little wolf? I've heard Solas calling you that quite a lot, and I have to say, it suits you quite well. It's not a pet name or anything, is it?"

"It's _da'fen_." She smiles. "Don't worry; we have plenty of other pet names we call each other. I don't mind you using that one."

He nods and sits in his chair, looking up at her. " _'Ma serannas, da'fen._ "

She smiles. " _'Ma neral, da'isenatha._ "

"And _that_ means?" he huffs.

"My pleasure, little dragon."

He snorts and smiles at her. "You know, I actually like that."

"Glad to hear it, because you're never getting rid of it," she retorts, with an impish grin.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> By the by, if any of you are interested, here's my info:  
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> Thanks for reading! If you enjoy the story, or this chapter in particular, please feel free to leave a review with your thoughts! I love reading comments, and reply to all of them. <3


	16. Chapter 16

It feels so damn good to get into an honest-to-gods fight. Three days spent wandering Tarasyl'an Te'las proved a day too long; by the end of that third day, she was practically _itching_ to go kill things. Fen'harel caught the brunt of her cabin fever with wild, raucous sex. While he hadn't seemed to mind in the slightest at the time, his eyes did widen quite a bit at some of the marks and scratches he'd seen reflected in the mirror this morning, courtesy of Lavellan's frustration. He was still giving her the occasional - subtle - sidelong glance of concern, until they finally ran into some action.

The ride to pick up Dagna had been rather uneventful, but the trek back is proving to be more of a challenge than she'd thought it would be. True to their wager, she is casting free-hand, staff still secured to her back and loving it.

"HA! _Got you_ , you beady eyed shit! Yeah, come at me, you bearded nug!" she taunts, her eyes zeroing in on a dwarf with a sword and shield that look more suited to the practice yard than an actual fight. But it is still metal, and thus completely vulnerable to the arc of lightning she flings into the tip of his sword. The dwarf grunts, eyes rolling up into his skull as his body convulses, then falls flat on the ground, dead.

"My lady?!" Rainier's strained voice calls over the clamor of the small scale battlefield.

"Yes?!" she calls back.

"Perhaps if you could -unf - leave the taunting -RAAA!- to the warrior?!" he shouts back, between blocking and stabbing.

"Will do! Sorry!" she answers, reducing her taunts to mumbling curses uttered through clenched teeth, as she casts a lightning cage around a tight grouping of idiots.

"My thanks!" he shouts, then starts in on the taunting himself, as he should, "Come on, you nug-humping shitheads, do your worst!"

Lavellan giggles, murmuring to herself, "I gotta remember that one, Tylaise would love it."

This earns her an even more concerned glance from Fen'harel, who must've overheard her muttering. He also has yet to draw out his staff, true to his word. She rolls her eyes and tosses out a chain lightning on the already caged rats, who summarily piss themselves as they dazedly recover. Then they try to run out of the trap, like the morons they are and get zapped. Again.

She and Fen'harel are fighting side by side now, wreaking havoc on what remains of the group of bandits they'd stumbled upon. She hears something big close behind them, too close. She wraps her arm around Fen'harel's waist and steps through the Fade, to the other side of the field, tossing them safely out of harm's way. She turns to see what had nearly caught them and finds the biggest fucker of the whole group left standing there, his massive maul still held high above his head. Cole is quick to take the opening, briefly vanishing before reappearing behind the huge _shem's_ back, driving his daggers up under his ribs and deep into his lungs.

"Yeah, he's not gonna recover from that," Lavellan comments cheerfully.

"It is doubtful," Fen'harel quips back.

Seeing that the field is now empty of combatants besides her own, she shrugs and flings a stone fist at the large _shem's_ face anyway.

Fen'harel glares at her disapprovingly.

She turns to him. "What? He was dying anyway; I put him out of my misery. It was a mercy. To both of us."

He seems entirely unconvinced. "Inquisitor, I wonder if I might have a word?"

She looks at him, then over to the rest of her group, then back at him; lowering her voice before she speaks, "What, _now_?"

He nods firmly. "Now."

She huffs. "Fine." She turns to the rest of the group, holding her hand up to halt them. "Give us a few, Solas wants a word."

She turns to see his back disappearing into the trees lining the edge of the meadow. She jogs after him, trying to catch up. When she does, he looks back, beyond her, and changes into his wolf. Not Atisha; the Dread Wolf. She raises an eyebrow. He huffs in a decidedly impatient manner. She huffs in a decidedly confused manner and joins him as her version of Atisha. He - rather ungraciously - plunks his chin on the bridge of her nose, and begins sending a torrent of thoughts through their connection.

' _What is_ wrong _with you? Why are you behaving in such a bloodthirsty fashion? Was_ last night _not enough?_ Why _are you so hungry for battle? You're being_ completely _reckless, da'fen; this is_ so _unlike you. What troubles you so that you would stoop to this level? Even_ Rainier _-'_

'ENOUGH!' she sends across with a growl, _'I get the idea! Do you expect me to answer_ all _of that, or just the general glaring question that covers all of it and could've been asked by itself_ without _the incessant berating of my character?!'_

He growls without response.

' _Fine,'_ she replies anyway, _'I just needed a fight, I was going stir crazy that last day at home and I needed some action. Yes, the sex helped, but it's not exactly fighting, is it?'_

He huffs and asks, _'Is that really all you can think of right now? Fighting? I've never seen you behave like this; where did this come from?'_

' _I...'_ She hesitates. _'I don't know. I just have all this excess energy and fighting seems to be the only thing to sate it.'_

He sighs. _'That is troubling, da'fen. Have you been to the heart since the day I accompanied you there?'_

She starts to shake her head but realizes that would displace his chin, so instead sends her response, _'No. You think this has to do with the heart?'_

' _I am uncertain,'_ he responds, _'It makes little sense if that truly is the cause. I have never known a heart to have this effect on anyone before now. But what else could it be?'_

She ponders, coming up with very little in the way of a real possible cause, so instead she posits, _'Something in the water? Shit, I don't know. Nothing's changed that I'm aware of, aside from, you know... me being more aggressive than usual. I do remember feeling like this once before, though.'_

' _When?'_

' _When I ran off to hunt after Redcliffe. I felt rage like I'd never felt it before, my skin felt like lava; I was just... overwhelmed. All that was left before I made a kill was pure animal instinct; even the voices of the Well couldn't shake it loose. But I figured that was just a side effect of carrying around a god's spirit. I mean, I haven't felt it again since then. Well, until now.'_

He is silent for a time. He slides his chin off of her nose and licks the spot where he'd rested, before staring off to some spot on her right flank. She recognizes this, even in his true form, as the look of him deep in thought. When his gaze finally returns to her, he gives one final nudge of his nose. _'We must seek Mythal out as soon as possible. For now, you need to hunt. Come, we will go together. It will be faster.'_

With that, he turns and takes off; heading deeper into the woods, leaving a confused Lavellan behind. She takes a few hesitant steps forward, looking back to try and hear her other companions; to make sure they're safe. She hears Rainier laughing. Good enough. She turns back and bounds after Fen'harel, chasing his scent through the underbrush. She encounters a small babbling brook in his trail, lifting her nose to see if he crossed it or turned to one of the side banks. She loses his scent on the banks, so she makes for a jump over the water. She mostly makes it. Sort of. Her hind legs and ass are wet, but she's across. She huffs, embarrassed at her lack of finesse. She needs more practice in this form.

The important thing is that she's caught his scent once again. Shaking out her fur quickly, she lunges after the still fresh trail, letting instinct take over fully as she drowns herself in the adrenaline of the hunt. It's true that she's not exactly hunting him, but she does have to find him before the hunt can truly begin. She runs full bore through the woods; nose to the ground, ears flat, paws treading lightly and moving so fast they're almost a blur. Suddenly, the trail ends. She skids to a stop, snorting in confusion, snuffling at the ground to try and make sense of what happened. She looks up, wondering if he climbed the trees somehow. Nothing but birds and small vermin. She glances around frantically, finding nothing but the trees staring back at her with their wooden eyes.

A whisper from the Well manages to seep through her baser instincts. _'Folding the Fade.'_

She snorts again, wondering what the words mean. She barely understands the meaning of each individual word in her current mindset, let alone what the phrase could tell her. It seems important. A louder voice in her head growls with indignation that she can't figure it out; a voice that sounds rather more familiar, at that. The call of the hunt is strong, but she manages to push it down, if only for a moment. That moment is all she needs.

She moves away from the end of the trail, sniffing in various directions, trying to figure out where it picks up again. She catches the barest hint of his scent and takes off, tearing through the leaves under her paws to chase after it. Yes! There it is! The trail is strong once again; guiding her, egging her on, taunting her as it grows stronger and stronger until-

She comes to another harried halt. She barely stops in time to avoid running into his now seated form, all six eyes gazing down at her. She sits, waiting. He sniffs at her. He growls. His eyes close and a mind blast explodes from him, knocking her back. She whimpers instinctively as her ears sting from the intensity of the shockwave. She shakes her head hard to try and stop the ringing. When she opens her eyes again, he's right in front of her, all six eyes latched onto her two. She lays her ears flat, hackles rising as she growls back at the strange wolf she no longer recognizes, tail tucked between her legs. Submissive, but warning. He huffs a sigh, leaning over and grasping the scruff of her neck, lifting her bodily off the ground. She yips, nipping at his jowls, but she can't pierce his skin. He growls, and she feels it in her _bones._ She lets go and whimpers, begging to be put down, for him to have mercy. She hears another sigh, feeling his breath wash out over her fur, and she trembles in fear. This is it. She finally picked on someone too big.

He carries her to a small path, and she can smell the scent of halla strongly here. She aches to chase them, but feels her death from above is imminent, so she squashes the ache, concentrating on that stark awareness which comes in one's last moments alive. Her adrenaline soars, making the trembling worse. Suddenly, her view shifts. She's being gently lowered to the ground. She lays there, curled in a ball, eyes closing and limbs shaking uncontrollably. She rolls onto her back, knowing the killing blow is coming but begs for mercy anyway. As the ringing finally fades from her ears, she realizes she's whimpering on every breath; her throat is tight with tension from making the sound over and over. She can feel his presence closing in. The warmth of his muzzle nears her flesh as his nostrils flare to scent her fear; as she had done to countless smaller prey, just before the kill. She tenses, knowing what comes next-

It is nothing like what she expects. Warmth surrounds her from top to bottom on one side, and she blinks her eyes open to clear the hazy film that covered them to see... him lying next to her, curled around her body. He looks down at her and sighs in what sounds like relief. She realizes belatedly that she's stopped whimpering. She stares up at him in disbelief. A chill races down her spine, signaling danger. She rolls away from him to stand on shaky legs, backing away from him uncertainly, not trusting this magnanimous change of behavior on the part of this stranger. He sighs again, nodding his head toward the halla trail behind her. She glances back at it, licking her chops, then at him- he's gone! She shakes her head, looking again. She whirls about, thinking it a trick and he's behind her now, but no. There is no sign of him. Had she imagined him? No, she can still feel the wet spot on her neck where he'd carried her; probably now matted with the dirt she'd rolled over in.

She can hear nothing but the usual sounds of a forest around her. She quickly makes her escape, using the halla trail as an easy path away from that terrifying memory.

* * * * *

He pants, even after he's shaken his wolf, leaning against a tree to compose himself after sprinting full speed back to their starting point. He wants to watch over her, but he needs to make excuses for her absence. Until she makes a kill and is freed of her baser instincts, she is effectively just another wolf, roaming the forest. He curses, shaking his head with a heavy heart. He did this to her. It is all his fault. Now, he has to come up with a convincing enough lie to tell Rainier and Dagna. Cole will know the truth, will want to help; but the _shems_ must live in the lie.

He huffs, his lungs finally satiated, and heads into the meadow. Rainier is sitting on a stump and Cole is pacing nearby. Dagna is sitting astride one of the horses as she stares with intense fascination at her palm. Fen'harel shakes his head at the last one, then narrows his focus to Rainier. He is the one he must truly convince.

"The Inquisitor felt the need for a moment to wash. We found a river not far from here. I am hopeful it will not take too much longer," he says as he comes near enough for his voice to carry without shouting it to the entire forest.

"She has the strangest ideas of appropriate timing sometimes." Rainier snorts. "And what was all that about earlier, her taunting off of me? She didn't even have her staff out to block anything; how daft is that?" He pauses, brow scrunching in thought. "Come to think of it, neither did you."

Fen'harel sighs. "She and I have made... a wager."

"A wager?" Rainier's face lights up in eager surprise. "What's that; to see who gets knocked over the head first because you're not using your staffs?" He laughs, shaking his head. "You mind if I get in on that, then?"

Fen'harel adopts his most superior expression, looking down his nose at Rainier. "I do mind, yes. It is a competition of skill between the two of us, not a betting pool."

Rainier raises his hands in surrender. "Oh-ho-ho, well alright then. Wouldn't want to get in the way of that mage superiority, would I?"

Fen'harel glares at him for a moment but moves on. He needs to speak to Cole and walks over to where he's pacing, stepping in his way.

Cole stops, looks up, and nods. "I'll watch her," he whispers, then disappears.

* * * * *

She slinks silently through the trees, following the path. Her prey is close now; she can almost hear its plaintive bleats now and again, filtering through the leaves and brushes ahead. She nears the edge of the forest, looks out over the ground that dips slowly into the banks of a small pond; a pond that three of her prey are currently lapping water from. She quickly picks her primary target; a young doe not quite big enough to give her trouble, but definitely good for a few meals, at least. She waits until all three are lapping, distracted- and strikes.

It is over quickly - the doe was even weaker than she'd assumed - and she drags her kill back into the forest. She retreats a way off from the trail, walking backward as she drags the carcass behind her. She doesn't want to foul up a well-used trail and make it harder to hunt them, after all. Once she is a reasonable distance from the trail, she sets her dinner out before her and begins the feast. She feels her raw nerves begin to soothe with the taste of the meat; the blood now drenching her muzzle as she strips pelt from flesh and flesh from bone. She works slowly, steadily; the process easing an ache inside her that she hadn't even felt until now. Her adrenaline slowly recedes as her stomach fills; taking with it the blind, feral instinct that blocked all thoughts of anything but _survival_.

She nearly chokes on a mouthful of blood and meat as she gasps when her true self finally emerges from the fog in her mind, looking down at the grisly scene before her with utter confusion and panic. It takes a few moments for her to realize she's in her wolf form, but once she does, the memories come rushing back like a hurricane over her frayed senses.

She races back to the pond, stumbling over her own feet and landing flat on her chest in the water; nearly forgetting how to swim as she splashes about, but finding her balance just when it is most needed. She finds her footing and cleans herself, hacking and coughing as she sucks water up her nose in her nerve-wracked haste. She backs up out of the water, shaking the wolf and falling to her knees, bracing her hands on them as she gasps great lungfuls of air. Her breaths hitch and are torn from her as sobs, as the memory of her fearing her death crashes through her consciousness. She watches as the memory replays in perfect clarity every moment of her mindless fear and doubt.

She nearly loses herself in the memories, until one peeks out to shine brighter than the rest; a tiny flicker of hope in a sea of fear and chaos.

' _We must seek Mythal out as soon as possible.'_

It is her only chance. She refuses to succumb to this... sickness; this... _wrongness_ that plagues her. Whatever Mythal can do for her, it _must_ be better than living like this. If Fen'harel can see hope in Mythal, she will too. She will use Mythal as a beacon to guide her from the madness that steals away her very essence. The voices of the Well practically sing with joy as she sets her new path.

She finishes cleaning herself, feeling marginally more like an elf after she picks bits of sinew out of her teeth and drinks a few handfuls of water. She looks down into the still pool at her reflection, checking for anything out of place. Her hair she can't do much for; it will have to be re-braided. She sighs and unbinds it, threading her fingers through it gently and letting it fall down her back. She takes a deep breath, nodding at her reflection once, twice; finally, a third time, before she gains the strength of will to stand. She almost falls back down again in shock as Cole appears beside her.

"He told them you went to bathe. It was a lie, but they believed it. Better than the truth; kinder. He sent me to look after you, to keep you safe."

She swallows and nods, holding her hand over her heart as she tries to even out her breathing once again. "Thank you, Cole. That helps."

He shakes his head. "You're still worried. I can help, if you like."

"No!" she nearly shouts, then realizes she probably hurt him, "No, thank you, Cole. I need to remember. I have to remember why we need to go to Mythal for help. Maybe after, okay?"

He tilts his head. "It won't be the same, after."

She manages a shadow of a wry chuckle. "Maybe that's a good thing."

He nods, the brim of his hat nodding after him. "It is."

She gives him a strained smile and pats him on the arm as she turns to head back to the others. She doesn't hear him follow, but that's nothing new.

* * * * *

Cole stands by the pool of water, watching her retreating back fade into nothing, blending with the trees. He speaks to the thought of her that trails behind, "You won't be the same."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> By the by, if any of you are interested, here's my info:  
> Skype: shannaleia  
> Tumblr: [Actually-Fen-Harel](http://actually-fen-harel.tumblr.com/)  
> Twitter: [Actually_Fen_Harel](https://twitter.com/Spyke1985)  
> DeviantArt: [ActuallyFenHarel](http://actuallyfenharel.deviantart.com/)
> 
> I'm on Skype 24/7, unless I'm asleep, or not at home.
> 
> Want my book? Get it here: [The Enemy In Me](http://www.amazon.com/dp/B00QZ5AI1K)
> 
> Thanks for reading! If you enjoy the story, or this chapter in particular, please feel free to leave a review with your thoughts! I love reading comments, and reply to all of them. <3


	17. Chapter 17

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: If you're eating, either finish or stop eating before you read this. This is just a courtesy warning, it's nothing horrifying, it's just that some I know would be queasy if they read this while eating. Sorry. Had to have some kind of negative effect for fast travel, after all. It felt too cheaty, otherwise. *shrugs*
> 
> Translations are provided in hover text, since it's much cleaner than having a gaggle of translations all over the place, and it's much more convenient!  
> A thing of which we do not speak: Exactly what it says on the box. It's a universal gag order on whatever the hell the topic is. I'm not 100% sure, but I believe the credit of the original usage of this phrase in this particular culture belongs to KeeperLavellan. You can find her on AO3, go read her fic, 'Apotheosis'. It's AWESOME.  
> 

Arriving back at Tarasyl'an Te'las is a rather quiet affair; if Lavellan excuses Dagna's babbling over her new facility, that is. And the anchor. And the runes. And...

Lavellan sighs as she orders special runes for every single weapon she has reagents for, ordering a rush job on Fen'harel's, Cole's, and Rainier's; as well as her own. Luckily, Rainier has already agreed to go back out with them to the Exalted Plains. The _last_ people she wants to ask for help in preventing a spirit's death are Cassandra or Bull; neither would be the least bit pleased at the prospect. She'll happily take a murderer along, when he voices the least objections.

She walks out of the Undercroft and slips the crystal dangling by a strip of leather on the side of the keystone into its socket. The enchanted pyramid's sides light up, highlighting the available locations on the maps overlaid on each side. The Western Approach is not yet available; but the Exalted Plains are, and just as she looks to check, the Emerald Graves light up.

She nods in satisfaction; murmuring, "Excellent," to herself, before pulling the crystal out of its socket and letting it dangle freely once more. She subtly checks to see if anyone's actually looking in her direction, before she folds the Fade to land herself in the rotunda. She barely misses the door. She curls her lip at it as a shudder races up her spine: that was a close call. She blames her overly distracted mind and shakes it off. She glances about until she spots Fen'harel over to her right, staring at the wall; planning his next fresco, most likely.

"Solas," she calls to him, smiling as genuinely as she can when he turns, "Are you ready to go save Wisdom?"

"Yes." He nods. "However, I wonder if it would not be more prudent to seek a solution for our other problem."

She shakes her head. "It can wait long enough to do this. Our keystones are tuned to the Exalted Plains now, so it should be a short trip there and back, if we're lucky."

He sighs, folding his arms and bringing one hand up to rub his fingers together before his chin; regarding her with narrowed eyes for a moment, his gaze calculating. His hands fall to his sides and his face relaxes marginally as he relents, nodding firmly.

" _Ma nuvenin, da'fen_. We should gather Blackwall and Cole quickly, then."

She bobs her head in assent. "I'll grab them. Meet us by the keystone in the main hall in ten."

She doesn't wait for his answer, opting instead to escape the room as swiftly as she can without rudeness. They haven't had a moment to talk since the whole... hunting incident. Frankly, she's not ready to talk. She's not even sure she _wants_ to talk. What she _does_ want is to get this situation over with, so they can seek out Mythal _immediately_. She can't have this malady hanging over her head constantly; she's the Inquisitor, and the Inquisitor has responsibilities that can't be ignored. _As_ Inquisitor, she _cannot_ be compromised, or be a liability. She won't stand for it.

She retrieves Rainier first, then heads to the tavern with the intent of rounding up Cole; but he saves her the trouble, appearing at her side before she makes it halfway there. She startles, but nods gratefully despite it, storming back up the steps and into the main hall with time to spare. Fen'harel is already waiting. Of course. He even has the keystone ready in anticipation of their arrival. They gather around it and press a single fingertip to each side of the crystal, then another on their destination. The true magic of the pyramid thrums to life, sending pulses of energy out that envelop and drag them in its wake, pushing and pulling and blending until-

A flash, there is nothing. Void. Such is expected.

A second flash, and they appear whole and hale in the middle of a Dalish camp.

Well, not entirely hale. Fen'harel and Lavellan manage to keep the contents of their stomachs - mostly thanks to their past experience - but Rainier is currently rushing to empty his in the river. Cole was never bothered by it, nor is he now.

Keeper Hawen pokes his head out from behind his _ara'vel_ , eyebrow raised as he assesses the status of the new arrivals that aren't hurling their guts up. Apparently, he decides that nobody will projectile vomit on him, as he brings the rest of his body out and comes forth to greet them.

" _An'daran atish'an_ , strangers; welcome to the Exalted Plains, and our little encampment. I am Keeper Hawen.

Lavellan smiles, bowing her head in respect. " _En'an'sal'en Amelan Hawen, nuvenan ma son?"_

Keeper Hawen's eyebrows shoot upwards in surprise. "You speak excellent elvish for a flat-ear. That is... quite surprising. Did you spend time with the Dalish, perhaps?"

Fen'harel snorts. Lavellan shoots him a warning glare. They are not here for arguments.

"Yes." She nods. "I spent a great deal of time with clan Lavellan. I mostly grew up with them, in fact."

"And yet you did not take a _vallaslin_?" Hawen cocked his head to the side slightly. "Were you not with them when you came of age?"

"I was." She sighs. "It is.. complicated, _Amelan_. _Ir abelas;_ it is _a thing of which we do not speak_."

"Ah." He nods. "I understand. How long have you been separated from your clan, if I may ask?"

"Four months, twelve days. I was First to Keeper Deshanna, but was sent to spy on the _shem_ conclave. I was the lone survivor. No doubt the Second, Tylaise, has replaced me by now."

Hawen's eyebrows crawl their way up to new heights as he absorbs this news. "You are the Inquisitor?"

She nods. "I am."

"Fascinating." He crosses his arms over his chest, regarding her curiously. "We have heard tales that the Inquisitor bears the rarely seen _vallaslin_ of Fen'harel. I suppose the rumors were exaggerated. Come, sit, what news have you? I am certain yours will be more accurate than the rumor mill."

She shakes her head. " _Ir abelas, Amelan_ , but we cannot stay. I can return later, but we came here for a purpose; we cannot tarry any longer."

"Of course, Inquisitor." He bows his head slightly in assent. "We look forward to your visit. _Dar'eth shiral_."

She smiles. " _'Ma serannas, Amelan Hawen; Ethas na._ "

She walks over to Rainier, who is just finishing up rinsing his beard from the mess he'd made of it. "Ready to go?"

"Yes," he groans, but nods, "so long as my stomach holds up."

She offers a kind smile. "Don't worry, you'll get used to keystone travel after a while."

"Maker, I hope so." He heaves a sigh. "But I think the worst has passed."

"Good man." She grins. "Let's get to it; we've got bandits to get rid of, and three idiot mages to bring back with us."

She rolls her eyes. "Joy of joys."

Rainier snorts, shaking his head as they start out.

It doesn't take long to get to their destination; a few wolves are dispatched along the way, but otherwise their improvised road is clear right up until the end. Once they arrive, they find not three, but five idiot mages. All of them are attempting to defend themselves against a gang of bandits with the least coordinated, sloppiest usage of magic Lavellan's ever been horrified enough to witness. She groans a sound that smacks a bit of a rutting hart in her sheer embarrassment at the spectacle. She slumps her shoulders, sharing an agonized side-eye with Fen'harel.

"Are you... _quite_ sure you want to save them?" he inquires.

She sighs. "Like I have a choice?"

He shrugs. "We could just kill them all."

She elbows him in the ribs, sending a message across, 'Now _who's bloodthirsty?'_

It's in poor taste, but right now, she's got a pretty piss-poor taste in her mouth anyway, from watching the debacle before them.

She heaves a sigh, waving them on. "Come on, let's save the idiots from their doom."

A few minutes of actually coordinated casting and stabbing later, the idiots are indeed miraculously saved; all five of them. The baby-faced moron that had approached them in her last 'life', is also the first to approach them now.

"Mages? And you're not with the bandits? Please, do you have any lyrium potions? We've been fighting those bandits for an hour now. We're all exhausted. We were almost to the point of doing something rather desperate; it's a good thing you came along."

"Nope." Lavellan shakes her head. "We're not with the bandits, we're with the Inquisition. I'm the Inquisitor. Hello. Now that I've properly introduced myself: no, we aren't giving you - of all the _ridiculous_ excuses for mages in Thedas - something as rare and expensive as lyrium. Considering first what you were likely about to do, and second the fact that we just saved your asses, you're coming with us. I'm conscripting you. You're now agents of the Inquisition; congratulations. You're going to get a radical re-education when I get back. Come with us, _now_ , and don't even _think_ of summoning anything."

The mage swallows, his eyes as big as his puffy cheeks. "But we were on our way to-"

She folds the Fade from her position at eight feet away, to arrive just shy of his face, growling. "I don't give a nug's ass where you think you were going. You've been conscripted. That means you come with us, no questions asked. Understood?"

He nods, cheeks jiggling rapidly.

She sneers at him, scoffing as she turns from him and gives the hand signal to march. Glancing back, she sees the mages all still rooted to their positions.

She groans, turning back to shout, "First rule! When I do this?" She gives the signal again. "YOU MARCH!"

_That_ gets their attention. They all scuffle and waddle their way to her in short order. She sighs, shaking her head as she turns, gives the signal _again_ , and marches. This time, everyone moves. Luckily for them. If they hadn't this time, she might've taken Fen'harel's suggestion to just kill them all. But, if they can understand and follow orders, they can be re-trained. And if it turns out they can't, then they can all _fenedhis lasa_.

Returning everyone to _Tarasyl'an Te'las_ is a slow process; since only four can use a keystone at once, they have to go in three groups. Lavellan stays behind until it's just her. She must wait until the crystal recharges before she can use it again. So she sits next to the keystone, leaning against it as she lets herself relax for a moment.

Sitting in middle of the Dalish camp, her eyelids drift shut as the bleats of the of the clan's halla fill her ears. The scent of cooking meat teases her tastebuds and the sensation of earth between her toes sings to her. It's almost too easy, to just… go. Leave. Run far, far away.

She could do it; slip away to one of the shadow clans in the far north, live out her days until the world is swallowed whole by the reopened breach. It's almost tempting. But she's not cruel enough to leave the world to its fate; not by a long shot.

Sighing wistfully as she reaches up, she pulls the crystal from its socket to gently push some of her own mana into it. It's time to go home. It's time to find Mythal and get on with her life as Inquisitor. The crystal is almost hot with a full charge when she stands and slides it back into place. She takes one final account of her surroundings, then breathes in, and sends herself home.

Flash, void.

Flash, stormy blue eyes, piercing into the depths of her soul. She blinks, taking a step back and smacking into the wall. She lets herself sink down into a seated position with a groan, resting her head on her knees as she battles the nausea once more. Soft steps come around the keystone to settle beside her; she hears the fleshy grinding of the balls of his feet against stone and the complaint of his joints as he squats next to her.

"' _Ma da'fen_."

She groans, though not entirely because of the nausea.

" _Garas'ara_ ; we must ready for our departure. I have already made excuses for our leave of absence with Josephine."

She mumbles from her current position, "What'd you tell her?"

"I told her I wanted to take you to a priest I know that specializes in rare forms of magic, that your mark isn't as stable as I'd prefer it to be. I said the priest might be able to assist me in stabilizing it fully."

She snorts, slowly raising her head to look at him, bleary-eyed from pressing her closed eyes to her bony knees. "You always have known how to spin a tale, _'ma'fen_."

His eyebrow peaks, a curious smirk on his lips. "Have you finally decided on a pet name for me, then?"

"Maybe." She shrugs. "Maybe I just called you that because that's what you are."

"Perhaps." He sighs, narrowing his eyes at her in gentle scrutiny, a smile still on his lips. "There is truth in it, certainly. I _am_ your wolf."

He leans in to nuzzle her gently. As he does, her entire body tenses; a vision of six blue eyes flashing harshly over the reality of two, her reaction born of the memory of fear as she ducks her head back down to her knees, hugging her legs to her chest tightly. Terror sends adrenaline coursing through her veins as she relives the moment, and her body begins to tremble all over again.

* * * * *

His eyes widen in shock as he sees her shrink away from him. She has only ever once had this visceral of a reaction to his presence, but to see it in her current form-

Fear grips his heart as the one who holds his heart lapses into a memory of pure horror. He reaches out to the one other person who could help her, sending his mana to him and tugging at his sharply to get his attention. He feels an affirmative brush against his panicked, wordless request; and is eternally grateful when he feels Dorian's mana move through his as he rushes to get to him physically. Fen'harel recalls his mana in Dorian's wake, still pulling him desperately. He hears the door from the rotunda to the main hall slam open, peers over to see the mage rush out of it, casting about to look for the mage the mana belongs to. Fen'harel waves him over urgently, then nods at his _da'fen_ with a panicked grimace.

Dorian kneels down on the other side of her, looking at Fen'harel with anger written plainly on his face. He keeps his voice blessedly low as he asks, " _What_ did you _do_ to her?"

"I did nothing!" Fen'harel snaps back, keeping his volume equally quiet, "I was only about to rest my brow on hers when she lapsed into a memory. I can't bring her out of this. It _must_ be you; you're the only person she trusts."

And oh, how it agonizes his soul to admit that. He feels the dagger of this foul truth dig deep into the crevices of his being and knows, above all things, that he deserves it. But he cannot focus on this now. It must be later. Shove it aside, push it down; bargain with the pain of it at a better time, a better place. For now, he must do what he can to undo the damage he has caused.

"So what you're telling me is, she's trembling in utter terror from a memory of _you_? Exactly how does this help your case?"

He growls. "It _doesn't_. Help her, _now_! You can torment me with the details of this atrocity _later_."

Dorian grinds his teeth before he replies, "Maker damn it all, but you're right."

He huffs, then nods. "Help me get her to her chambers. You taught her that damn invisibility spell, didn't you? Cast it on us. These fops don't need more fuel to fan the flames." He tosses a jerk of a nod toward the courtesans dithering about the hall; for now completely ignorant of the drama occurring in the corner.

He picks Lavellan up, cradling her tightly and securely against his chest. "Well, come on, cast it; we need to get her up there _now_!"

Fen'harel draws the magic around all three of them so they can see each other, then runs to open her door. He looks back to see Dorian standing, adjusting his grip on her carefully as he moves swiftly across the room and enters. Fen'harel closes the door quietly and dispels the magic. He hurries up the stairs, throwing the second door open and holding it for them. Dorian slips through and makes his way up the stairs, Fen'harel following on his heels.

Dorian lays her gently down on her bed, sitting beside her and softly stroking her arm. Fen'harel moves to the other side of the bed, sitting gingerly on the very edge; desperately wishing he could slide in closer, but fearful of making the episode worse than it already is.

Dorian keeps his tone light and even, though his intent is plain to hear if one but listens. "Now, wolf; you are going to tell me exactly why our _da'fen_ is so afraid of the god she's loved her entire life, or so help me, I will call every dead soul I know to bear and ask them to kindly torment you until the end of time. Does that sound fair to you, oh mighty elven wolf god of the Fade?"

Fen'harel nods slowly, his eyes solely trained on... their _da'fen._ "It is more than fair and less than I deserve for how I have wronged her."

He tells Dorian first what happened on the way back from Redcliffe, then the main event on the way back from retrieving Dagna; holding back not a single detail, from his perspective.

He shakes his head mournfully as he breathes a sigh choked with sorrow. "It shames and pains me more than you can know, that the love she has carried for so long has been so utterly despoiled by my own hands. I never wanted this. _Never_. The entire reason for giving her my essence was to help her, to let her reach her potential as one of the People. To force me to see and recognize that there is still hope for this world, to make me fight for a world with her in it."

Dorian sighs, swearing softly. "Kaffas... Are all of the elvhen pantheon so over-dramatic?"

"I... what?" It takes a moment for his words to sink in. "What do you mean by that?"

Dorian gives a short, wry laugh. "Oh, how shall I put this so I don't regret saying it later? Ah well, there's nothing for it. As much as it grates me to say this, her current dilemma is not... _entirely_ your fault."

"How is it not?" His brow creases. "I put her in this position when my red lyrium future self gave her his essence."

Dorian rolls his eyes. "Oh, _do_ stop trying to make a martyr out of yourself. It really doesn't suit you."

His expression is one of indignant shock. "I am not _trying_ to do anything of the sort! She is here because of my selfishness. The blame for everything that has happened to her can be laid squarely at my feet! I am hardly blameless in this. The the truth is patently obvious: it is all my fault."

Dorian's groaning sigh trumpets his exasperation. "Now you're just trying to _bore_ me. Are you really so set on taking responsibility for every unlucky thing that's occurred in her life, simply because you feel guilty for loving her?"

"I do not feel guilty for loving her."

Dorian chuckles, sliding his hand down her arm and holding her hand in both of his. "Oh, deny it all you like, but if one thing is patently obvious right here, right now, it is that. Do you really think that her being afraid of you is your fault? It isn't. She wasn't in her right mind when that happened. Survival instinct was all she had left. She barely knew the difference between you and whatever animal she ended up killing, except that you were a bigger threat than she was and it wasn't. And, if your account is indeed true, you did everything you could to see her through it.

"This? What she's finally starting to come out of? This had nothing to do with you. You just happened to be there, and be bigger than her; which really isn't much of an accomplishment. So, no matter how much blame you try to stack on top of yourself for this, her fear of you isn't _on_ you. It's on _her_."

Fen'harel shakes his head, frustration clawing its way out of his skin. "Giving her my essence caused the problem that _led_ to this situation!"

"And what if you hadn't? What then? She would still be mortal, you would still be a liar, and you would be utterly alone. You've been given the gift of a second chance; most don't even get the first chance. Are you going to squander this opportunity too, like you did the first? Are you going to leave her _again_ because you're such a glutton for guilt that you can't see what's staring you in the face?"

Fen'harel sneers at him. "And what is that, exactly?"

" _Love_ , you fool! Most of the world would sell their _souls_ to hold the precious power of her love for you in their hands for just a few _seconds_. You have eternity. You hold in your hands something that no one should _ever_ let go. Yet you would throw it all away for your ridiculous guilt! What good is guilt? Will guilt make you happy? Or will she? _Fight_ for her, like you said you wanted to; you great, floundering _idiot_!"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> By the by, if any of you are interested, here's my info:  
> Skype: shannaleia  
> Tumblr: [Actually-Fen-Harel](http://actually-fen-harel.tumblr.com/)  
> Twitter: [Actually_Fen_Harel](https://twitter.com/Spyke1985)  
> DeviantArt: [ActuallyFenHarel](http://actuallyfenharel.deviantart.com/)
> 
> I'm on Skype 24/7, unless I'm asleep, or not at home.
> 
> Want my book? Get it here: [The Enemy In Me](http://www.amazon.com/dp/B00QZ5AI1K)
> 
> Thanks for reading! If you enjoy the story, or this chapter in particular, please feel free to leave a review with your thoughts! I love reading comments, and reply to all of them. <3


	18. Chapter 18

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Translations provided in mouse-over text. Just hover over the elvish for translation!

She's floating.

Such an odd thing to do, floating.

It feels like she should really be doing something else.

She should certainly be doing just about anything but fucking _floating_.

But no, she's floating.

She sighs. This is hardly productive. She has things to do. The Inquisitor shouldn't be just hanging around, floating. The Inquisitor should be out in the world, closing rifts, righting wrongs, coaxing cats out of trees for withered old ladies. Not. Floating!

There is naught but void around her. No sound, no light - though she can see herself perfectly, oddly enough - she can't even feel anything, other than the fact that she's damn well floating. Why? Is she in some warped - more so than usual, at least - version of the Fade? She can't do any of her usual somniari tricks, so apparently not. What is this place? She can't _literally_ be in the actual void, can she? No, no, no; that's... that's not possible. That's _insane_ , in fact. She tries to laugh at the absurd thought, but no sound comes out. She quirks her head at that in utter fascination. It feels like it _should_ bother her, but it doesn't. How strange.

Oh. OH. That's a new sensation. She's being pulled _up_ now. Well, at least it's a change from just _fucking floating_.

Up, up, up she goes; though where exactly she's going, she has no idea. There's nothing above her, just as there is nothing below her. Checking again, there is indeed _still_ nothing around her, either. _Such_ a strange place.

Oh, wait! There's a light above her! It's... tiny, minuscule, really; a pinprick. She's not even completely sure it's really there. Might just be something in her eye. She blinks, then closes one eye, looking at it with the other. Still there. She switches eyes. Huh. Still there. Well, maybe there's something to this light thing after all. She can't have the same something in both eyes, right? Then again, this _is_ a very strange place she's in. How did she get here again?

Oh, right.

Oh, _shit_.

~O~O~O~O~O~O~

Watching her wake nearly seizes his heart up. She bolts straight up from a dead sleep; eyes wide, her lungs strained and gasping for air, fingers nearly tearing the sheets she's gripping and pulling them so much. Heaving hard-won breaths, she stares ahead for a few heart-pounding moments, gaping at thin air as if she's seen the face of the Maker himself. Ever so slowly, she starts to look around. She looks left first, finding nothing but an empty room. Then, she begins rounding to her right; sees him, and scrambles her way right out of her bed in fright.

"SHIT-fuck-fenedhis-by the Dread Wolf-what-AH!" she shouts, her last exclamation an actual cry of pain as she falls ass-first off the side of her bed.

"Ow," she groans in a miserable whimper.

"My dearest _da'fen_ ," he begins, "I know I'm gorgeous, but I have to say I've never seen such an extraordinary reaction to my beautiful face before. Are you quite alright over there?"

He sees a hand raise above the bed, waving slightly before he hears, "Fine, my ridiculously stunning _da'isenatha_. I think my ass might be broken though. Not gonna move to find out just yet."

"Well then," he says as he stands, "in that case, I shall move to you."

He sees her give him a 'thumbs up' before the hand lowers very quickly, and he hears her arm smacking against the bare floor.

"Ow."

"Did you somehow forget that there's no carpet in your room yet?" he asks, chuckling as he moves around the bed and sits on it, next to her legs. He leans his elbows on his knees and smiles down at her.

"Yep." She looks up at him, raising her other hand to jab her finger at his knee. "Did you know, I was just in the weirdest place. It wasn't the Fade, it was like... I don't know. There was just- _nothing_. Not a damn thing anywhere. And I was floating! And there was no sound, I couldn't feel anything! Then I did feel something, like I was getting pulled up, and there was this tiny light. Could barely see it at first, thought I was just crazy, then BAM!" She slaps her hands together for effect. "I woke up. And it was fucking awful, until I saw your handsome face."

"I see!" He leans down conspiratorially. "Is that why you shouted every curse you know at the top of your lungs the moment you saw me?"

Her face scrunches up, as if she is insulted. "That wasn't every curse I know! Just..." She shrugs, though it's not very effective in her prone state. "Some of 'em. Anyway, it doesn't matter. I'm back now, and you're here, and everything's better. Right?"

He tries to smile for her, but try as he might, it ends up slightly more like a grimace than he wishes it had. Before he can answer, recognition pours over her face as if someone dumped a bucket of it on her.

"Oh, shit. Right. Oh, _fuck_." She scrambles to sit up, her hand clenching his knee, face full of dread. "Where's Fen'harel?"

"I believe he's in the rotunda." The second he answers, she's jolting herself to her feet, so he holds his hand up to halt her escape. "Before you run off, he left something for you."

"Left something?" Her brow furrows in confusion. "What'd he leave?"

"A letter." He points behind him to her nightstand. "You may want to read it before you go to him."

She seems uncertain, hesitant, almost afraid. So much like the halla her people love herding that he'd seen roaming the countryside on their journeys. She crosses one arm over her stomach, hand grasping her other arm, almost as if in an effort to hold herself together. She takes a breath, releases it, then walks all the way around the bed and snatches the letter up quickly.

~O~O~O~O~O~O~

Her heart's pounding as she unfolds the perfectly creased paper, hands shaking by the time she sees the careful lettering on the page. She can't read it properly for the shaking, so she sits on the bed and lets her hand fall to her lap to steady it as she reads. It's in elvish, so she asks for the voices of the Well to help her. They answer readily enough.

 

_My everything,_

_I am so, so sorry for the pain I have caused you._  
_Dorian insists that it isn't all my fault, but I see the truth of it._

 _I have been so selfish. Had my pride not been so great,_  
_I might have had the foresight to avoid such grievous mistakes;_  
_but pride always has, and likely always will be my downfall._

 _It is my fault that you are experiencing so much pain._  
_I should have paid more attention to the memories you gave me._

 _Had I not been so absorbed in seeing your thoughts of us,_  
_I might have noticed the shift earlier; might've prevented_  
_at least some of the agonizing fear of me_  
_that you now hold in your heart._

 _It is because of my selfishness that I must now ask something of you._  
_I fear what your answer may be, but still, I must ask it._

_When we go to Mythal, will you allow us to raise you?_

_I know it is no small thing that I am asking, but it is_  
_the only thing that can save you from this curse_  
_I have so selfishly inflicted upon you._

_Please, my heart, my soul: let us save you. I beg you._

_With all that I am; wretched though I am,_

_Fen'harel_

 

She reads it again. And again. A fourth time, and her eyes stick to one line on the page.

_When we go to Mythal, will you allow us to raise you?_

She stares at the question, feels as it lifts away from the parchment and worms its way into her mind, like a secret whispered from Dirthamen's lips. It bores into her consciousness like an arrow shot from Andruil's bow, tearing through and demolishing everything in its path.

_When we go to Mythal, will you allow us to raise you?_

How can she answer that question? She has thought of this. He's certainly hinted at it enough.

But to actually be faced with the prospect of either accepting godhood or possibly losing herself entirely to this madness?

She sets the letter back on her nightstand gently, patting it like one pats a child on the head as his words burn holes in her mind. She moves her hand to her lap and lets herself fall back onto the bed, eyes shifting to Dorian as he leans back on one elbow, facing her.

"Well?" He lifts an eyebrow. "He didn't tell me what he wrote. May I ask, or is it private?"

She waves a hand toward the parchment, inviting him to read it himself. He stretches and snatches it from the nightstand, but the moment he lays eyes on the text, his expression falls and he rolls his eyes. He snaps the letter around, showing her the text.

"I can't read elvish, _da'fen_. Not _that_ fluently, anyway." He drops the letter in front of her.

The voices of the Well whisper to her, and she sits up, facing him. She levels a serious gaze at him. "Stay still, do not move."

She raises her eyebrows in a stern expression; like a parent waiting for their child to admit to stealing sweetmeats from the window sill, waiting for him to either confirm or comply.

He gives her a very confused and alarmed look, but stays still. She raises both of her hands, listening to the whispers as they direct her. Slowly, she moves one hand to his ear, the other closing his eyes gently and covering them and his mouth with her hand as much as she can. Listening to the words the voices chant to her, her lips form the sounds of vowels and consonants from a spell she never knew existed until now. She speaks the words for both of them, casting the spell for two; the voices lending their power and their song to her. A burst of mana, and it is over. She takes her hand off his face, but cups the one over his ear onto his cheek with a smile. He opens his eyes, eyebrows cocked, and licks his lips.

"That was... interesting," he intones, his brow still crooked as he looks at her.

She chuckles, picking up Fen'harel's letter and handing it to Dorian. "Read, Dorian."

He takes the letter and spins it to face her again without looking at it. "It's in elvish! I can't read that much elvish, I already told you."

She raises an eyebrow, pursing her lips. She looks down at the letter, then back up at him. He's still holding it up to her as if he expects her to read it to him.

So she does.

In elvish.

He stops her before she gets more than five words in, turning the letter back 'round to face him and scanning the text himself, his eyes widening in shock. His gaze drifts up to hers slowly. He gives a single, disbelieving laugh through his nose. He licks his lips once more, keeping them parted this time. He narrows his eyes, as if concentrating.

"I... no." He stops, closes his eyes tightly; bobbing his head, then shaking it and finally looking back up at her, trying again.

" _Ar ir abelas, 'ma'on'ala da'fen, 'ma'asa'ma'lin, 'ma'ni."_ Apologies and endearments flow from him in perfect elven, as if he can't help himself. _ 'Ma shem a eolas'din tel'lasa 'ma itha'lanun na'lana'ma. Ar'felasil. Lanasta'ar?_"

' _Haste and ignorance?'_ she wonders with a wry grin. She throws her arms around his neck, hugging him to her tightly and gives him the forgiveness he pleads for. " _Ar tel'abelas; ar'lanasta'na, ar'lanasta'na!_ "

She nearly chokes on a laugh. " _Ar'numemah. Na'masa. Fenedhis._ "

True to her words, she backs off and wipes her eyes, smiling at him.

He chuckles through his own watery eyes and cups her cheek in his hand. " _Tel'numemah, 'ma da'fen._ "

She bites her lip with a teary smile, releasing it to take in a deep, steadying breath. She grins on the exhale, nodding happily as she takes his hand. " _Na en'an'sal, 'ma da'isenatha_."

He chuckles, shaking his head. "A blessing? Me? No more than you are, my dear. This is amazing. How did you learn that spell? Did he teach it to you?"

"No." She shakes her head. "There's a place we'll go; Mythal's Temple, in the Arbor Wilds. It is a sacred place. There's an ancient artifact of my People there, called the Well of Sorrows. Corypheus will try to steal its power to gain the use of the _el'u'vi'an_ there, and use it to enter the Fade. I stopped him the... last time, by partaking of it myself. Now I have all of the priests of Mythal since the beginning of time whispering in my head at random times."

"Well," he comments with a derisive snort, "that must get rather annoying. I already have the dead whispering to me when we fight; I can't imagine having to listen to them constantly. It has to be terribly distracting for you."

"It is, at times." She nods in concession. "But they usually stay quiet unless they have something useful to say. Or, if I'm doing something they like or object to."

"Hmm," he hums thoughtfully, "what do you plan to do this time? Surely you can't use it twice?"

"No. Remember I told you about Morrigan, the woman who taught me how to turn into a wolf?"

"Yes, I remember." He nods.

"I'm going to let her drink this time. It was a choice between her and I last time, and I wasn't about to let her take knowledge that my People have been without for thousands of years. But, I know now. It's time to give her understanding, too."

"Generous of you to share."

She laughs, holding up a finger. "Not as generous as you think. Mythal is currently using a human vessel: Flemeth. Flemeth just so happens to be Morrigan's mother. When Morrigan drinks from the Well, she will be forever bound- to her mother."

"Bound?" His brow bunches in confusion. "Bound how?"

"Eternal servitude." She smirks. "When I met Mythal after I drank, she could physically control me with magic. It was almost like blood magic, but she used no knife; there was no blood. She was just a goddess that I happened to be bound to."

"As fascinating as that is, won't she still have control over you now?"

"I don't think so," she replies, shaking her head, "I'm pretty sure my connection to Mythal was severed before my consciousness came back in time; either when she gave Fen'harel her power, or by being displaced myself. I'm not sure which. But I used to feel a connection to her, and it hasn't been there ever since I came back."

"Well good for you, then." He smiles. "All that knowledge and the only consequence is the occasional dead elvhen priest talking in your head? I'd say that's not all that bad, really."

"Perhaps." She grimaces. "Perhaps not. Did you read the whole letter?"

"Ah, no I didn't." He looks down at the - until now - forgotten page between them, leaning in to finish reading.

He looks back up as he finishes, confusion scrunching his face up. "Raise you? As what, their five-thousand generations removed immortal grandchild?"

She snorts. "I wish." She sighs, shaking her head. "But no. Fen'harel's spoken to me about it before. He wants me to let them raise me to godhood."

It's a few seconds before he can speak, but his shocked reaction is clear on his face. _"What?"_ he finally spits out, "Is that even possible? Why would they - no offense intended, mind you - but why would they want to raise you?"

"None taken. Fen'harel tried to explain it to me once, using a lot of praise and flowery prose, but I'm really not sure why-"

"Because it will save you." Cole appears next to them on the bed, looking at her, but scaring the wits out of both of them.

" _Fenedhis!_ " they both shout, nearly simultaneously. Then they look at each other and laugh.

Lavellan recovers first, turning to Cole as she tries to remain serious, despite Dorian still snickering beside her.

"Is that really the only reason? There's got to be another option."

"No." Cole shakes his head, hat wagging as he rocks back and forth. "There is no other option. I've looked in every tome, searched the Fade, and found nothing. There is no other cure for this ailment; she must say yes, or we will all lose her to my selfish recklessness. He's pacing the room, worrying; storming in circles because he can't find another way and it _hurts_ , it hurts so much, but he won't give up. He can't stop, he has to save you. It's his responsibility. He did this. He _must_ fix it."

He looks at her, straight in the eyes. "Please say yes? I can't help either of you if you don't." He turns away, hugging himself. "It hurts."

She folds her arms around his neck and hugs him from the side. He stops rocking, but he still hugs himself, as if the hurt he feels is physical.

"I'm sorry it hurts, Cole. I don't know what to do. I don't even know what to _think_ about this. Every time I try to consider it, my mind just... shuts off. I don't want to be a god. I didn't even want to be Inquisitor; but Thedas needs me, my People need me, everyone needs me."

"Dorian needs you like the sister he never had; never knew he missed it until now. You'll change the world, and he wants to see it happen. The Iron Bull needs you because you laugh at his jokes. He sees fire in your eyes that makes him fight harder, stronger. Cassandra believes in you even more than the Maker. She'd never say it, but it's true. The proof is in her faith. Varric needs you because you renew his trust in people. Sera needs you because you don't call her crazy, you understand; you give her hope. Her pranks make you laugh, and she likes to see you laugh, she thinks you shine then, calls you Shiny in her mind. Blackwall needs you because you're what he aspires to be, and it makes him try more, to _be_ more. His guilt is muted, blunted when you're near."

Cole leans his head toward her clasped hands, resting his cheek on them. "Vivienne needs you because you're nice to her. She knows everyone else is just pretending. I need you because you're kind, you want to help, you try so hard to soothe the hurts and make everything better. It doesn't always work, but you always try, and that's all that really matters. The Wolf needs you because without you... every battle he's ever fought, big or small; every terrible, rotten, beautiful, amazing thing he's ever done fades to nothing if he can't _save you_. He's _begging_ to save you. But you have to _want_ to be saved."

Lavellan has long since turned her face into his shoulder, trying to keep herself from crying. She's long since failed in her attempt. Cole's shoulder is soaked with her tears, she realizes belatedly, and begins to pull away.

"I don't mind. Crying helps too. Tears torn like little pieces of the soul, falling, trailing; a puddle of sorrow that makes the healing pool."

She laughs through her tears and nuzzles into his shoulder. He tilts his head to her side, laying his cheek on the crown of her head in comfort.

Dorian reaches out and gently grasps her ankle in support. She turns her head just enough to give him a tear-stained smile. He smiles back.

"As much as I don't really understand all of this, _'ma da'fen_... I'm pretty sure we all want you to be saved. I know for a fact that I do. I don't want to lose you, either. It'd be an awfully lonely world without you." He gives her ankle a gentle squeeze.

She frees the arm in front of Cole and brings her hand down to thread her fingers through Dorian's, squeezing back.

"Thank you, my little dragon."

"Always, my little wolf."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> By the by, if any of you are interested, here's my info:  
> Skype: shannaleia  
> Tumblr: [Actually-Fen-Harel](http://actually-fen-harel.tumblr.com/)  
> Twitter: [Actually_Fen_Harel](https://twitter.com/Spyke1985)  
> DeviantArt: [ActuallyFenHarel](http://actuallyfenharel.deviantart.com/)
> 
> I'm on Skype 24/7, unless I'm asleep, or not at home.
> 
> Want my book? Get it here: [The Enemy In Me](http://www.amazon.com/dp/B00QZ5AI1K)
> 
> Thanks for reading! If you enjoy the story, or this chapter in particular, please feel free to leave a review with your thoughts! I love reading comments, and reply to all of them. <3


	19. Chapter 19

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here, have an extremely long author's note!
> 
> 1\. Assume that everything said after they get to the cave is in elvish. I didn't want to have to make you reference all of that dialogue, nor did I want to translate it. Too much damn work. In fact, screw it. From now on, unless I specify that Fen'harel, Fen'da'len, Cole, and Dorian are speaking in trade (Unless, of course, they're speaking to someone who doesn't know elvish.), assume they are speaking elvish. That way there's less confusion and needless exposition. I'd rather not have to say 's/he responded, in elvish,' every fucking time, and I'm sure you'd get sick of it just as quickly. :D  
> 2\. This chapter is extremely headcanon-heavy. I haven't released very many of my headcanons for the public; mostly because I want to see what Bioware does, to see how much of what I theorize is more than just headcanons. But you'll be getting a taste of them here, just as you have been here and there from the rest of this story. Enjoy. And please, if you disagree with them, don't turn the comment section into a bitch-fest about them. Thank you! :)  
> 3\. If you use any of my headcanons that you hadn't already thought of yourself, please give credit. It's just polite. Thank you. :D  
> 4\. I don't think I've mentioned this before, but I should cover my ass here: I don't own jack shit. All characters/locations (Except characters/locations I make up, obviously.) are property of Bioware. Even Fen'da'len, despite her having my personality. So, I own her personality, but not her. Got it? Good. Ass covered. :D  
> 5\. Oh, and NO, that isn't me giving anyone but Bioware permission to use her. NO, you may NOT. Thank you. :D  
> 6\. Yes, I know about the new DLC. None of my stories are going to include, or be affected by it, whatever it reveals. They're all AU. So yeah. :P Bioware for that. lol

She stands there with her hand resting on the wood of the door, picking at it nervously. She's supposed to be going inside and giving him an answer. But she isn't certain what her answer is. All she knows is that the question makes her skin itch maddeningly, and there's no balm in the world that can make it stop, except her answer; one way or another. She pushes the door open, because she will not let him torture himself any longer, even though she is still unsure what to say.

She looks up to see him pause his pacing and turn to face her with a blend of relief, longing, fear, and hope in his eyes. He takes two hurried steps towards her, then stops, hesitating. She can tell he is holding himself back, hiding the pain that he must feel at doing so. She turns her back to him and closes the door behind her, leaning on it for support just long enough to gather her courage. This is her wolf, she reminds herself. She should not fear him.

But a small part of her does. A part that's just loud enough to force the memories before her eyes-

_NO!_

She shakes herself and grits her teeth as she closes her eyes tightly. It wasn't real. Her mind was gone in that terrifying moment. He would never hurt her now, and she knows it. She has to move past this horror for both their sakes; compartmentalize it, understand it for what it is and put it in its place. It doesn't belong here. It can't remain here, or her heart and soul are lost.

Breathing a shaky sigh, she turns back to him. His gaze flutters up to her briefly, hope on his face; but then he looks down, worried, hands fisted at his sides.

"I'm so, so sorry, _'ma lath_. I don't know what to say." His voice is soft and cracking with the sorrow he feels, and her heart aches to hear it.

"No," she replies, moving to him and drawing his brow to hers with her hands, cupping his cheeks as she closes her eyes, "stop. You have nothing to be sorry for. You did nothing wrong, you were only trying to help."

She feels his head shake against her brow.

He sends across, _'But I made it worse. You fear me now, I can smell it on you. I'm worried if I try to touch you, you'll run. It isn't right, vhen'an!'_

Her eyes fly open to meet his and she moves back, taking his hand in hers and placing it against her cheek.

' _I will deal with it, 'ma sa'uthlath. My fear is not of your making. I'm sorry for what happened when I got back; that was my fault. I should have stopped and made peace with it. I knew something wasn't right, but I ignored it. You are not to blame, do you understand me?'_

His eyebrows pinch together and she sees the muscles of his jaw twitch. He swallows, then slowly nods.

' _If that is what you truly believe, then yes. Ar suledin nadas.'_

She turns her head to kiss his palm, then looks back at him with a smile. "There is nothing to endure, so long as you stay at my side. _Garas_ , we should go see your priest."

He gives her a tight, but proud smile, nodding. " _Ma nuvenin._ "

* * * * *

A few hours later finds them on the road, Dorian and Cole with them for safety and companionship.

"So where is this shrine we're headed to, anyway?" asks Dorian, a hint of unease in his voice.

"Two day's journey from here at our current pace, unless you know of an intact _el'u'vi'an_ closer than that," Fen'harel responds.

Dorian points to Lavellan. "She would know that better than I; I'm not from the south, as you might've noticed."

"No, sorry." She shakes her head. "The ones I know of on the way are either corrupted or shattered."

"Corrupted?" Fen'harel asks, his brow pinched. "Corrupted how, exactly?"

"The blight has corrupted many of the _el'u'vi'an's_ that have been discovered in recent years," Lavellan replies sadly, "They've either been warded or sealed off when they are found, to keep people from being infected. Varric knows an elf that cleansed one mirror, but she dealt with a demon to do so. I'd rather not go that route, if it's all the same to you."

"She was foolish indeed to make such a bargain. It saddens me to hear of the magics that have been lost over the ages. If you know of one such mirror, I can cleanse it with little difficulty."

Lavellan looks at him as he rides beside her, surprised. "Can you? Well then, it's actually not far. A half-day's ride- or less, if we hurry. If I'd known before we left, we could have used our keystone to get even closer."

"Then we should make haste. I would not wish to risk another episode by tarrying."

"Very well." She looks back at Dorian and Cole, waving them on. "We're riding hard. Follow my lead."

* * * * *

The sun is an hour from setting when they finally slow their horses to pick their way through a forest on the side of the road. Despite the years, the path has been maintained by the animals to an extent, but it is narrow. Before long, they dismount and continue on foot, following the ever narrowing trail to its end at the mouth of a cave. It is deathly quiet- _too_ quiet for any normal forest.

Lavellan sighs, laying her hand on a boulder at the side of the entrance, as if greeting an old friend. She turns to look at her companions with a tight smile, speaking in elvish.

"Come, my friends. It's not far. Be wary and do not touch anything inside."

Dorian nods, responding in elvish, "Lead the way, little wolf _._ I'll follow you."

Fen'harel looks at her, confusion on his face. "Did you teach him that phrase?"

"No," she responds, shaking her head. "Why do you ask?"

"It is..." He pauses with a bemused smirk. "Remarkably fluent."

She snorts, flashing him a grin. "It had better be. He learned from the best."

"Before you ask," Dorian interjects, "it was a rather nifty little spell she learned from the priests in her head. It's quite astounding, really; I can speak, read, write, and understand elvish perfectly now. I can also understand all the little pet names you've been calling her, in case that wasn't already clear. They're sickeningly sweet, if I'm perfectly honest."

Fen'harel gapes at both of them in turn, blinking owlishly. He swallows, a blush spreading over his cheeks and all the way to the tips of his ears.

"Well, did you expect anything less? She is my heart."

"Yes, yes, I know." Dorian waves him off, looking to Lavellan. "Shall we go in before nightfall? I'd rather not be eaten by things I can't see."

She grins and bows her head in assent. "Yes, let's go. There will be giant spiders, if I recall correctly. Expect a fight."

"Wonderful," Dorian comments, his trepidation carried clearly on his voice.

They make their way down into the cave, rotted roots and worn stone giving way to the ruins of an ancient, battered shrine to Andruil. Just as she predicted, the moment they enter the main room, spiders skitter their way over to them and attack. It is quickly over, but they stay on their guard, in case more decide to interrupt them.

The mirror stands tall against the far wall; still intact, but very obviously not as it should be. Fen'harel moves to it, expression grim as he looks it over.

"Do not touch it until I have cleansed it," he instructs over his shoulder. "Give me a moment."

They nod and form a semicircle around him, guarding his back cautiously. Lavellan can feel the pull of his magic as he begins to cast, his strong and ancient will tugging at her aura. She spots a spider, but it doesn't seem interested in them, yet. She can feel the spell behind her building, gathering strength; pulsing against her aura now. She sees another spider, and another; all seemingly ignoring their presence, in favor of dragging the corpses of their dead brethren out of the room. She glances at Dorian to see him watching them too, his flames at the ready. Why aren't they attacking? Why even bother with the corpses? She's never seen this behavior before. The spider corpses are soon gone, replaced by the live ones that dragged them out. But now, instead of studiously ignoring them, they're facing them; not attacking, just... watching. She glances at Dorian again, this time met by his own questioning look.

"What are they _doing_?" he asks, unease flashing on his features.

Fen'harel's strained voice behind them responds, "They are waiting. Be ready; they will attack once I am done, and likely in greater numbers."

Lavellan snaps her attention to the entrance at the far side of the room, watching as Fen'harel's prediction unfolds before her eyes. Spiders, so many their bodies seem to blend together, are scrambling through the archway, clinging to the walls and tumbling over each other in their desperation to enter the room. There are already far too many for them to handle, and more still are pouring in.

"How can there even _be_ this _many_?" she wonders aloud, not expecting an answer.

Cole's voice pierces the tension, "Centuries they have lain in wait, breeding, festering; a disease upon the land that lets no other life exist. Many have dared to enter here. Few have left. They are very hungry."

"Lovely. That's very reassuring, Cole, thank you." Dorian curls his lip, eyes wide in fear.

"The moment the mirror opens, retreat." Lavellan orders, "Dorian, lay down a wall of fire. I will push them back to give us time, but it won't be much."

Dorian nods. "Ready when you are."

Lavellan looks to Cole. "Cole, I-"

"I will help," he cuts her off and moves to her side, nodding firmly.

She smiles in thanks and lays her hand on his shoulder, drawing will from him to give more force to her mind blast. She feels Fen'harel's spell cresting, nearly at its peak.

" _Now!_ " Fen'harel shouts, and she hears the familiar crash and hum of an opening _el'u'vi'an_.

Dorian spreads a circle of fire around them, and Lavellan releases her overcharged mind blast, knocking the spiders back and stunning them. It buys them mere seconds to escape.

She turns and yells, " _Go!_ " to Cole and Dorian, waiting for them to pass before pushing Fen'harel in after them, following quickly. She hears a spider right behind her, nearly at her heel.

A breath, and she's through, seeing Fen'harel reach back and close the portal with a gesture. Two severed spider legs fall to the ground in front of it, flopping about madly. She bursts into relieved laughter at the absurd sight, shaking her head. Adrenaline is keeping her nerves from settling, but she takes a harried breath and looks to Fen'harel.

"Where to?"

He's too busy looking her over to respond at first. Once he seems satisfied that she's uninjured, he meets her gaze with a nod.

"Follow me. The mirror may need to be repaired, but it can be done."

They follow his lead, meandering the crossroads on deteriorating pathways, around vacant and sickly-looking mirror frames. Not all are empty or corrupted, but she is saddened to see that the vast majority of them are. Lavellan has always wanted to explore more of this place, to see which mirrors would lead where; to seek out the places her ancestors once tread. She's often wondered how many of them actually lead to places that still exist, or how many no longer have a twin mirror in the world to connect to. She decides to turn her wondering into an actual query.

"How many of these mirrors could still be used, if they were repaired?"

"There is no way to know, without first visiting the other side of the mirror," Fen'harel responds with chagrin. "An attempt to find out could prove lethal to anyone who tried. There could be lava, or a sheer drop on the other side of the mirror. They will need to be thoroughly investigated, before any attempt is made to use them for travel. It would be an enormous undertaking, but perhaps we may one day find out."

She smiles and reaches for his hand, threading her fingers through his. He returns her smile and squeezes her hand gently. After a few minutes of silent progress through the crossroads, Cole breaks the silence.

"I could visit the other sides for you."

Lavellan looks over her shoulder at him, shaking her head. "No, Cole. I wouldn't want to risk losing you. We'll find another way."

Fen'harel speaks before Cole can respond, "Actually, there would be little risk for him, my heart. It would be a far more efficient way to find out what is on the other side, and he is already willing."

"Are you saying he can survive lava, if that is what greets him on the other side?" She raises a skeptical eyebrow.

Fen'harel chuckles. "The only mirrors which would have lava near them are the ones leading to the Deep Roads. I would not wish to open those, lest we run into darkspawn. It is too great a risk. The others can be explored by a spirit such as Cole, with caution."

"I will be careful. Winding through the Fade, finding the old places; paths forgotten by most, but most are not all." Cole smiles at Lavellan. "It would help."

"Well," Dorian interjects, "before you decide to start in on all that, perhaps we should rest here for the night? I don't know about you, but I think we should take a moment to gather our wits about us and recover from that lovely spider incident. As odd as this place is, it doesn't seem to be crawling with nasties, which is more than can be said for a lot of places we camp. We may as well get some rest and start out in the morning, yes?"

Fen'harel looks back at Dorian and nods. "Very well. But we will not sleep until morning. Mythal's power is greatest with the moon's light, so the ritual will need to be performed when it shines brightest. We will be safe here, but do take care with any casting; the veil is warped here. It is not like casting in either the Fade or the regular world. Your spells will have very different effects than you intend, if you do not compensate for the difference. Your dreams will also be... quite unique."

"Why do I not like the sound of that one bit?" Dorian quirks a worried eyebrow at Fen'harel. "Unique how, exactly?"

"Have you ever wished to dream as Fen'da'len and I do? As somniari?" Fen'harel chuckles. "This is your chance. Do be careful; I doubt you would wish to stumble upon our dreams by accident."

"Really? How exciting! Perhaps one of you could introduce me to a few tricks, since it's my first time? I wouldn't want to just bumble about and hurt something on my first try, after all."

"I'd be willing to help, little dragon." Lavellan smiles. "Call for me when you enter the Fade tonight. I will come to you."

"Much appreciated, little wolf. I shall be very interested to see what happens."

"Anything you wish to happen. You could explore the memories of this place, or create your own dream space. It's up to you, once you learn to properly manipulate it." Fen'harel smirks, then looks ahead at a large mirror, pointing to it with the hand not entwined with Lavellan's.

"This is our destination. I am pleased to see this side is unbroken, at least. We can make camp here, while I see if the other side is still usable. I know the location still exists, so it will only be a matter of finding out if the other mirror is intact or not."

Fen'harel activates the mirror and begins casting a spell on it as the rest of them set their packs down and lay out bedrolls. The temperature in the crossroads is cool, but not uncomfortable, so a fire won't be necessary. Lavellan gently unstraps Fen'harel's bedroll from his pack as he concentrates on his spell, laying it out near hers. Cole flits about, setting out rations and water skins at every bedroll, then settling on his own with a single ration beside him, as usual. He never eats it, but Lavellan remembers he often offers it to anyone who is still hungry after their own rations. She smiles at the memory. He smiles shyly at her from under the brim of his hat.

Dorian has just sat down on his own bedroll when Fen'harel stops casting, waving a hand over the mirror to close it with a pleased expression.

"It seems Mythal has been vigilant with her mirror. It is intact."

"Well that's good news, at least," Dorian comments, unwrapping his evening ration.

"It is," Lavellan agrees, "I have some questions though, before tomorrow finds us-"

"Of course you do. As do I. Why there are so many interesting people waiting to visit my shrine, for one."

Lavellan's head whips up as the very familiar voice interrupts her, her eyes landing on none other than Flemeth herself. She jumps to her feet, bowing her head in deference.

"I greet and welcome you in peace, All-Mother."

"Such manners! And from someone I do not recall meeting before." Flemeth chuckles, her gaze sweeping over those gathered, "It is not often I am so formally greeted in this age. Relax, child, this is an informal visit. I am merely here to sate my curiosity. Introduce me to your friends, and do tell me how you know of me."

By now, all but Cole are standing and looking at Flemeth with varying degrees of interest, confusion and amusement on their faces.

"We have met before, All-Mother, in another life. Or another time, more accurately. I believe you know who this is," Lavellan says, as she gestures to Fen'harel, then to Cole and Dorian, "this is Cole, a spirit of compassion. This is Dorian, my best friend. And I am Fen'da'len, formerly of Clan Lavellan."

"How very fascinating. You'll have to tell me the tale of how we met." Flemeth quirks a brow at Lavellan. "And who do you assume I think that is, child?"

"They know, Mythal," Fen'harel responds.

"I see! You trust them not to reveal your identity to others, do you?" Flemeth asks him.

"I do. She is my one eternal love, and these are her closest friends. They are trustworthy."

"Your one eternal love?" Flemeth's surprise shows clearly on her face as she looks for confirmation from Fen'harel, which she receives with his nod, before she gives a measured look to Lavellan.

"Interesting. Come here, girl. I wish to hear your tale and see the truth of things." She beckons Lavellan toward her with a wave of her hand.

Lavellan glances nervously at Fen'harel, but complies, moving toward Flemeth with her gaze downcast in respect.

"Look at me, girl. You are no slave, to keep your eyes averted from mine."

Lavellan fidgets, but raises her view to look Flemeth in the eyes. Flemeth smiles warmly.

"Much better. Now then, let's see." She lifts her hand to cup Lavellan's cheek gently, closing her eyes.

Several things happen in rapid succession. The anchor sparks and flares hot. Lavellan tightens her fist to try to shut it off, but it only burns hotter. The voices of the well claw themselves out of their resting places, and the din of a thousand voices speaking at once overwhelms her. Then, a voice louder than everything else rips its way through her consciousness and peaks in a howl that shakes her to the very core of her soul. After that, all turns to silence and blackness.

* * * * *

"My, my, Wolf; where did you find her?"

Mythal looks through Flemeth's eyes, down at the pair before her, Lavellan lying limply in Fen'harel's arms where he'd caught her as she collapsed. The girl's hand continues to flicker with the Wolf's power, the voices of Mythal's own priests persistently calling to her, alongside a haunting emptiness that should not exist still gnawing at her. The Wolf begins funneling healing into Lavellan as he answers.

"She found me, actually." He smirks. "You have seen for yourself. Search me, if you doubt her."

"I do not doubt her. But I _am_ curious how she could be your one love, if you will allow me to sate my curiosity."

He nods his acceptance, and she reaches down to search him for the answers to her questions. She releases him when she finds them, and laughs.

"Ha-ha! Oh, will wonders never cease? You wish to raise _her_? How intriguing! And how do you think she will handle that, Wolf? Have you considered how she would feel about this?"

"I have." He nods, his expression terse. "But even if she does have objections, it is the only thing that will save her from my foolishness. I will not have her suffer for my mistake."

"Mistake? You made no mistake, Wolf. Her inability to handle the absence of your essence is not your doing. She was the right choice to be your vessel. Have you ever considered she may have been destined for this from the beginning? What you know of her is only what she has allowed you to know, old friend. I have seen into the shadows of her mind. While she has no desire to gain any more power, she is not so opposed to it as you think she is. And her doubts about our plans would be weakened once she understands our nature properly. She is a perfect candidate. I- wait, what is this?"

She quirks her head as she catches a glimpse of the edge of something shining just under the collar of Fen'harel's armor. That's new. She leans down and gently pulls aside the collar, exposing the mark on his shoulder. Her eyebrows raise in surprise. She pushes aside Lavellan's collar in turn. Mythal is silent for several moments after she releases Lavellan's collar, contemplating her discovery. Lavellan stirs into wakefulness, and Mythal smirks as she speaks up, her voice quietly wistful.

"I have not seen those marks in a very long time. When I saw them in your memories and hers, I assumed they were symbolic, or an illusion, but to actually see them with my own eyes..." She trails off, shaking her head with a fond smile.

"You doubted what you saw?" Fen'harel quirks his eyebrows. "That is the first time I have ever heard you doubt your visions."

"They aren't completely infallible, old friend. You do realize what those marks mean, yes? She is your soul's twin. My sons have those marks as well. They say something different, obviously, but they have them."

" _That_ is what it indicates? I was under the impression that it was a mate's bond mark." Fen'harel's brow scrunches in confusion as he looks down at Lavellan, then back up at Mythal. "I never saw a similar mark on Falon'din or Dirthamen; are they in a different position?"

"They are." Mythal nods. "Those marks usually appear over the hearts of each twin. I assume it was your little ritual in the Fade that altered their location. That ritual does result in a similar marking, but this is definitely the twin soul mark."

"What do they say?" Lavellan asks, finally awake enough to speak.

Mythal sighs and kneels down, pulling Lavellan's collar aside once more. "Hmm. Yours says: 'Twin soul of Fen'harel, God of Rebellion, Bringer of Nightmares', etcetera, etcetera; it goes on to list all of his titles. I'll just skip past all those, shall I? 'Woe to any who attempt harm to the bearer of this mark, or its twin.' It sounds rather melodramatic, but there is an actual curse that is cast on anyone who kills either of you now. It's rather nasty, actually. It applies to the next ten generations of their family."

"What is the curse?" Lavellan inquires.

"The curse compels the murderer and their decedents to bring themselves before the aggrieved party and offer their lives in service. They cannot die until they give in to the compulsion. They grow to adulthood, but they only begin to age again once they seek out their sentence. From adulthood on, the compulsion only becomes stronger, until they can no longer ignore it."

"Well," Lavellan comments with a grimace, "that's a particularly wicked curse. But it is just, I suppose, for immortals. What if the bearer of the other mark dies? The curse ends?"

"That would hardly bring justice to either party, would it?" Mythal scoffs. "If both die, the firstborn of every generation, for the next ten generations, in the families of both murderers are stillborn; but only the firstborn of every generation, not the firstborn of every branch of the family. There had to be a limit for it to be just, after all."

"What of mortals who have the marks?" Dorian asks. "Or would that mark not apply with us?"

Mythal shakes her head. "It would not appear on anyone but an immortal elvhen. The magics and potential curse are far too strong to apply to any mortal, whether they be elven or otherwise."

"Well, good to know. Thank you." Dorian gives her a tight smile.

Mythal nods her acceptance of his thanks, then looks back at Lavellan as she starts to push herself to her feet with Fen'harel's help.

"What does Fen'harel's mark say?" Lavellan asks as she stands.

Fen'harel stands with her and offers a hand up to Mythal. She accepts it before she reaches for Fen'harel's collar with her other hand, peeking at his mark. Surprise lights on her features as she reads it.

"Now _that_ is interesting. It has the bit about the curse, but the name and titles other than Inquisitor and Herald of Andraste, are... in _flux_."

"In flux?" Lavellan asks.

"What does that mean?" Fen'harel demands.

"I-" Mythal shakes her head, a look of consternation on her face. "I have seen this only once before. I did not think to see it again."

Fen'harel's tone is hesitant as he asks, "When did you last see it?"

"On my sons, just before they were raised," Mythal replies.

"So it's removing my choice." Lavellan scoffs softly, shaking her head.

"You have never had a choice, girl; not if you wish to live out your eternal life with your mind intact." Mythal answers her sharply. Her tone softens as she continues, "It is a portent, a window into your future. Your malady can only be cured by what your twin soul and I can give you. I advise you to accept the offer. Unless, of course, you _prefer_ insanity. I certainly won't judge you if you do!" She laughs.

Lavellan sighs sharply, closing her eyes and rubbing the bridge of her nose soothingly. Her eyes open again as her hand falls back to her side. She shakes her head. "So this raising, you- you're both seriously talking about raising me to godhood? This doesn't even seem... fathomable."

She shakes her head again and hooks her thumb over her shoulder at Fen'harel. "He's mentioned it several times, but I never thought he was actually considering it. And I certainly didn't think I'd be facing it this soon."

"I was perfectly serious, my heart. I would never offer such an opportunity lightly." Fen'harel strokes her arms with his hands comfortingly.

"Indeed he would not," Mythal agrees. "I have never seen him offer it before, in fact. I find it rather appropriate; him offering his one and only love godhood. A first in both cases."

Lavellan takes Fen'harel's hands and wraps his arms around her, backing into him gently and leaning her head back to nuzzle her brow into his neck. She sighs once more, softly. Fen'harel's eyes glow with the light of the Fade for a moment. He tightens his arms around her, tilting his head to rest his cheek on her hair. His eyes flash again, and he smiles sadly to Mythal.

"She is afraid it will change her into something she is not; worried that it will corrupt her. She already has a great deal of power at her fingertips."

"You know the truth, old friend." Mythal smiles. "It will corrupt her no more than the overabundance of power she already holds. Between my priests and your mark, she is already unstoppable. This would merely be a confirmation of what you already know: she is meant to be a goddess."

"Soul sings truth when all else fades, burning bright, too much light to see, counting birds against the sun." Compassion lifts his voice to fill the silence, turning for the first time since she arrived to look at Mythal. "She is very loud. Like you and the Wolf."

Mythal smirks at the spirit. "That is an accurate assessment. Has she always been like that?"

"Yes." He nods. "But she's quieter in the Fade. Finally at peace there, where she can see the places long gone and feel magic as it should be. As it will be again, someday."

"She is fortunate to have such an excellent bloodline. There are so few with her talents left in this age. Present company excluded, naturally." Mythal smiles approvingly at Lavellan. "That she is still as whole as she is, speaks extremely well for her strength of will."

Lavellan snorts, lifting her face from Fen'harel's throat to look at Mythal with a self-depreciative smirk. "So I keep hearing."

The tips of Fen'harel's ears redden as he smiles sheepishly. "I may have commented on it a few times."

Lavellan laughs. "Only a few?"

Fen'harel only grins and kisses Lavellan's neck with a low chuckle, his blush spreading to his cheeks.

Mythal raises an amused eyebrow. "I never thought I would see the day, old friend, but you have certainly found your equal."

Fen'harel rests his chin on Lavellan's shoulder, nodding. "I know. I told her you would say as much, but I am glad to hear it confirmed."

"How could I say any less? She is a match for you in every way. All that remains is for her to accept her fate, and take our offer." Mythal sighs and activates the mirror beyond them with a gesture. "I will leave that to you. Discuss it, sleep on it; I'll give you some privacy for a few hours. I will come wake you when the moons are in position."

"Thank you, for everything." Fen'harel bows his head slightly.

Mythal chuckles, winking at him as she passes them. "Thank me when this is finished. I have done nothing yet."

* * * * *

They separate and turn to watch Mythal leave through the portal, eyes trained to it until it darkens again. Lavellan sighs and walks to her bedroll, sinking to a cross-legged position.

"Well, shit."

Dorian snorts. "Well said."

Lavellan gives Dorian a mock salute as Fen'harel passes her to settle on his own bedroll. "Thank you."

"What on earth are you going to do? Is my little wolf truly going to become a god? I'm not even sure what to think of that."

She scoffs, unfolding her legs to draw them up under her chin, hugging her legs to her chest. "I know exactly what you mean. I thought this was something I wouldn't have to deal with for years- maybe even centuries; now I'm suddenly being shoved into it, lest I lose my mind to this damn... whatever it is."

"For what it is worth, I am deeply sorry that you have to decide on this now, my heart. As genuine as my original offer was, I did not think you would be facing the decision so soon. I understand how difficult this is. I have been where you are now. I had just as little choice in the matter, though my mental health was not at risk."

She tilts her head to look at Fen'harel. "What _was_ at risk?"

Fen'harel is quiet for a few moments, sighing before he answers, "My family's freedom and well-being. We were slaves to Mythal, before my talents were discovered. I accepted her offer, on the condition that my family would be free and their needs met, for the rest of eternity. She kept the agreement until her death. She tried to find the remnants of my family after her return, but they had scattered to the winds by that point."

Lavellan sighs sadly. "So your descendants could be wearing slave markings by now, in some Dalish clan somewhere."

Fen'harel chuckles. "That is unlikely, unless they were possessed with your own personal proclivities."

Her brow creases in confusion. "What do you mean?"

"The method Mythal used to ensure none of my bloodline would ever be slaves was... unique. The only slave markings they could ever bear are mine. Since I have and would never keep slaves, it seemed appropriate, at the time."

"Well," she responds with a smirk, "if we ever run across an entire clan that is either without blood writing, or bears your markings, I believe we'll have found your descendants."

Fen'harel snorts. "You may be correct. I have never seen such a clan, but if they do exist, it is possible they are one of the more reclusive groups, since they would likely be reviled and considered cursed by the other Dalish."

She nods. "That's quite likely, sadly. We'll have to look for them sometime, once we deal with Corypheus. I'm sure we'll come up with something."

"Perhaps. In the meantime, we have much larger concerns."

"Yes." She sighs, looking over between Cole and Dorian. "Thoughts?"

"Many," Dorian answers, "but I'm not entirely sure which to voice first, besides the ones I already have. I'll let you know when I figure it out- _if_ I figure it out."

"Fair enough. Cole?"

"You won't be the same; you'll be better. You're afraid, but you shouldn't be. You're good; it will only make the good shine brighter."

"You really think so?" she asks.

He nods, smiling.

She shakes her head. "I've always been told that power corrupts. I've seen it happen."

"Did they become gods too?"

"No, they didn't." She chuckles, shaking her head. "They were just put into positions of power that they weren't ready for."

"And... you don't think you're ready?"

She chuffs. "Is anyone really ever ready to become a god? I've already gone from mortal to immortal; that alone was more than I ever expected. Now this? I don't know what to do with this. It's uncharted territory for me, to say the least."

"You're afraid you'll lose yourself, fearing for the sake of fear. It won't hurt you. You'll still be you, just... _more_ you."

She shakes her head. "And how do you know this? Have you watched someone being raised before?"

Cole points at Fen'harel. "He remembers."

She looks to Fen'harel, eyebrow raised. "Is that what you remember?"

"Yes." He nods. "Your strongest assets are enhanced, especially your personality. Your magical enhancement will be unpredictable due to the veil, but the rest should be the same. And once the veil is down, your magic will... well, you saw the memory. Imagine what you experienced there, but having tenfold the power. You will be able to shape reality with your will, just as I did."

" _That_ is what being a somniari translates to when godhood is applied to it?" Dorian asks in shock. "Andraste's flaming knickers, that is remarkable!"

" _Ten_ fold?" She gapes at Fen'harel. " _Forget_ Andraste's- _Mythal's_ flaming knickers! How can you even wield that much power without spontaneous combustion?"

Fen'harel bursts into laughter, doubling over and holding his stomach.

She looks at him like he's lost his mind. "What? What's so funny?"

It takes a while for him to calm down enough for a coherent answer, but after a few deep breaths and false starts, he finally regains his normal peaceful veneer. Mostly.

"Apologies, I was not expecting that." He grins, choking back a laugh that turns into a snort. Another breath, and he continues, "To clarify: Mythal's host, Flemeth? She was Andraste before Mythal found her."

" _What?!_ " Lavellan and Dorian shriek in unison.

"Yes." Fen'harel nods, still smiling. "If you recall the tale of Flemeth, compare it to that of Andraste's, and you come to the truth of the matter. When Andraste was murdered, she met Mythal in the Fade and made a deal. By the time they merged and returned to Andraste's body, it was being discarded into the sea. Mythal healed her new host and gave her the strength to swim to shore, then they disappeared from history, reappearing much later as Flemeth. She has lived on in each generation through her daughters since that time."

Stunned silence meets the end of his tale, and continues uninterrupted for several minutes. Dorian is the first one brave enough to venture a question.

"So you mean to tell me the woman that millions worship as the bride of the Maker... is now host to an actual goddess?" He gives an hysterical half laugh, then falls silent again, staring at the mirror as if he expects to see it suddenly activate and the original Andraste walk through it.

"That is accurate, yes," Fen'harel replies with a smirk. "Believe it or don't, as you prefer, but it is the truth."

"Sylaise's tits; how much of history as we know it is wrong, if something that _huge_ was omitted from the record?" Lavellan shakes her head in wonder. "I think 'written by the victors' is a vast understatement, at this point."

"You're quite correct." Fen'harel nods. "Much has been lost over time. A great deal of it was due to the Chantry, but even the Shaperate has hidden things and buried the truth. Not to mention the qunari, whose historical journals are so wildly inaccurate, they don't even know the story of their own origins. Did you know that they are the youngest race in the world?"

"Really?" Dorian pipes up, seeming somewhat recovered, "How old are they?"

"Only around three thousand years. They are the result of an experiment performed by mages delving into forbidden arts; arts that were forbidden for good reason. Thanks to their dalliances, all of Thedas could one day be subject to a race that enslaves themselves and everyone around them, simply because they lack the will to control their baser instincts without their tight leashes. There are exceptions, naturally, but they are not the rule."

"What was the experiment?" Lavellan asks. "Cross-breeding? Bull mentioned something once about an old theory or legend that they had some sort of dragon influence in their bloodlines. They hold dragons somewhat sacred as a result."

"I will not explain the ritual involved," Fen'harel replies, "but they are the bastard descendants of elves and dragons, mixed with a race that is now extinct, thanks to those experiments. Let us speak no more on the matter. We have more immediate concerns."

Lavellan nods. "As you wish. I assume you're wanting to return to the original subject, so I'll ask again: how do gods control their powers without blowing themselves up?"

"Foci. All but Mythal and Elgar'nan used foci to channel and contain their magic. You will need to craft one as well. Mythal and I can assist, but the magic to bind it has to come from you. We will teach you all you need to know."

"Alright." She nods. "I'm guessing you're able to cast without it because of the veil, and being diminished after eternal sleep?"

"Yes. You will be able to cast normally until the veil is torn down, so long as you have your foci on your person somewhere. After the veil is gone, well..." He chuckles. "None will cast normally after that. You will notice a _drastic_ difference then, but that is to be expected."

"Just how soon are you planning on altering the fabric of the world, exactly?" Dorian asks, "I'd like to be ready for it, if it's happening in my lifetime."

"That's something he and I have been disagreeing on ever since Redcliffe," Lavellan answers. "Honestly, I don't know that it should be done at all. Tearing down the veil will release the gods from their prison, and they're most likely gonna come out kicking and screaming. The veil being down and having access to all that magic would be fantastic, but having a pantheon of pissed off gods, bent on revenge and tearing the world to shreds, would not. I just can't see that ending well."

Dorian grimaces. "Neither can I. Is that really something that has to be done?"

Fen'harel huffs. "Neither of you understand the nature of what's been done to them. They will be just as weakened as I am when they are released. Do you imagine they have been awake and at full power all this time, locked away in the Fade and plotting vengeance? They have not. Not only have they been asleep this entire time, but nearly half of them are dead, thanks to blights. The gods of old are not as strong as they once were."

"Wait, the blighted archdemons were _those_ gods? The gods of the elvhen pantheon?" Dorian pales as he slumps with a sigh, running his hand over his face. "Maker, how much of the history we know is wrong, if even _that_ is false?"

Fen'harel shakes his head. "Not just the pantheon. Two of the forgotten ones were corrupted as well. Andruil is long dead, considering she is the one that brought the blight upon us to begin with."

" _Andruil_ brought on the blight?" Lavellan frowns. "I thought that was the magisters who entered the Fade with Corypheus?"

Fen'harel shakes his head. "No, the magisters only opened a small window that released a few blighted creatures into the world, from where they'd discovered it in Arlathan. I doubt it was intentional, but those creatures spread their filth to others. Arlathan was locked away for a reason."

"Arlathan?" asks Dorian, his brow pinched. "It was The Black City that they supposedly went to. Arlathan was long gone by then."

"Arlathan had fallen to the blight by then, yes. And it was sealed away to prevent the spread of the blight to the rest of the world."

Lavellan holds her hand up to halt all conversation, gaping at Fen'harel in shock. "Wait, are you saying The Black City is... _Arlathan_?"

"Yes. It was once a place of beauty, but the blight corrupted it, killing and turning thousands into mindless beasts. The only thing that can control them is the will of a god, but that god must be blighted themself in order for the darkspawn to understand their will. When a god is corrupted, they awaken, signaling the start of another blight upon this world. They waken and see the world is not as they remember it, and the madness of the blight twists their perception to make them wage war upon a world they see as corrupt, even as it is they themselves who are corrupted. I wish to release those still remaining, so they may be spared the disease that has befallen the rest of my brethren."

There is a time of silence as this information is absorbed, Lavellan and Dorian staring at each other in stunned dismay. Lavellan finally looks away and breaks the silence.

"So, you created the veil to save the world from an infection that would've destroyed it."

He nods solemnly. "I did. I barely escaped with my life, after Andruil slew Mythal. She would have come for me, next. The entire city was locked in a state of stasis, and sealed away from the rest of the world. I have spent the past two thousand years in eternal slumber, along with the remaining gods, trying to eradicate the blighted creatures from Arlathan in my sleep. While you dream peacefully, I wage war. The entire reason I have been helping you to strengthen the veil and close the breach, is because the cleansing is not over. It will be soon, but it is not done yet. Once it is finished, it will be time to remove the veil and restore some of what once was. After that, we will take the fight to the Deep Roads, to end the corruption once and for all."

"All of this time, the gods haven't been locked away, they've been asleep; waging war in the Fade?" She ogles him in wide-eyed wonder.

"Correct."

"Then they wouldn't kill you in revenge for your deception, since you never deceived them to begin with?"

"No, they would not." He shakes his head with the barest hint of an embarrassed smirk. "I merely enacted a contingency plan that had been in place since Andruil first brought the blight with her from the Void. My remaining brethren would not punish me for acting with our best interests in mind. They are well aware of what happened. You were right to worry about their reactions to this world as it is, but they will adapt, just as I did."

"You felt the need to lie to me, even then?"

Fen'harel sighs, disappointment souring his expression. "If you had been in my place in that horrible future, would you have spent hours explaining the truth of things? Or would you have gone along with what your accuser assumed was the truth, to save time, when there was none? Yes, he- I lied. But I am not lying to you now."

Lavellan shakes her head. "Because you no longer have a reason to lie. Because I would find out what the truth is on my own now, even if you hadn't told me. But he wasn't the only one who lied. You lied to me later as well."

"Yes, I know. I am sorry for my deception, it was born of habit and necessity at the time. It was not done in malice, if that helps. Am I to take your statement as confirmation that you've come to a decision?"

She sits quietly, gazing at the mirror with a slight frown on her face. It's not the choice she wants to make. But if she can help...

"If I do agree to this, will I be able to help with the fight?"

"The fight in Arlathan?"

She nods.

"Yes, my heart. If that is what you want to do."

"It is."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> By the by, if any of you are interested, here's my info:  
> Skype: shannaleia  
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> I'm on Skype 24/7, unless I'm asleep, or not at home.
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> Want my book? Get it here: [The Enemy In Me](http://www.amazon.com/dp/B00QZ5AI1K)
> 
> Thanks for reading! If you enjoy the story, or this chapter in particular, please feel free to leave a review with your thoughts! I love reading comments, and reply to all of them. <3


	20. Chapter 20

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WHEW! Well, that last chapter was one hell of a doozy. You still with me? Or did my crazy headcanons drive you away? If you're still here, let's see what happens now, shall we?

"Are you certain about this, little wolf? I don't want you to fall into madness any more than the rest of us, but this is... well, _life-changing_ doesn't even cover it, really."

Lavellan gives a small smile to Dorian as she responds, "No, it really doesn't. But if I can help fight the blight, and restore this world to the way things should be at the same time, what choice do I have? Can you truly say you would choose differently, if you were in my place?"

Dorian sighs, a contemplative look on his face as his gaze casts away from her. "No, I suppose not. It just doesn't seem fair, to heap so much on one person. You already have Corypheus, the Inquisition, and two gods to deal with; let alone the rest of Thedas demanding your attention. Now, you'll be fighting a war in the Fade against a source of evil that's plagued the earth for over a thousand years. And on top of all that, add whatever responsibilities will come with your new powers. You'll be amongst the ranks of the most powerful being to exist in all of history. Don't get me wrong, if anyone could handle it all, it's you. But that is still quite a lot to deal with at once. I would be lying if I said I wasn't worried for you."

"Thank you, little dragon." She reaches across the gap between them and clasps his hand in comfort.

"I don't blame you for worrying. You're definitely not the only one. I have no idea what's going to happen tonight, but I can't ignore the truth when it's staring me in the face. If I can help save this world - for good this time - I would be remiss to forgo the opportunity to do so. Especially when refusing comes with such a high price. I will not allow the Inquisition to become compromised by my faltering sanity. It isn't right." She gives his hand one last squeeze before retreating with a sigh.

"Well, I have a few dozen questions, but I'll save most of them for later. I do want to ask one now, however."

Dorian looks at Fen'harel as he continues, "What's to prevent other somniari like our little wolf here from entering... well, Arlathan? If somniari are able to walk the Fade and manipulate it unlike the rest of us, how are they kept from stumbling into the city itself and discovering the truth on their own?"

"It is sealed away from the rest of the Fade," Fen'harel answers. "You will see once you go to sleep tonight. No matter how hard you try to reach it, Arlathan will always remain far in the distance from you. It is an illusion, as many things there are. But it keeps those without permission at bay, to protect them from their own recklessness."

"I see." Dorian nods. "But what of the magisters who entered it? Surely they were under that same illusion?"

Fen'harel shakes his head, a frustrated sigh escaping him. "They were the victims of their own hubris. They sacrificed thousands and amassed enough power to overcome the illusion. They thought to make themselves demigods in their own right, by offering their services directly to their gods. What they found instead was corruption and death. They were cursed with the taint that had overcome Arlathan, and forced to leave the city when it weakened them. They wandered the Fade for centuries after that. Some of them escaped, but a few still wander the Fade, mindless in their madness, or dead by their own hand."

Dorian's lip curls in revulsion. "Well, that's rather grim. I'll be sure to go in the opposite direction of Arlathan tonight, if it's all the same to you."

"I think that would be wise." Lavellan chuckles. "Perhaps we should bed down for the night? To quote Cole, 'time won't wait'."

"Quite true," Fen'harel agrees, "I can cast our minds into the Fade, if you would prefer. It may be easier than trying to sleep by yourselves, here."

"Yes, please, my love. I will meet you there before I go to help Dorian." Lavellan nods, shucking her armor off and un-tucking the blanket from her bedroll to slip under it.

"Oh, why not? You're probably right," Dorian acquiesces, as he follows Lavellan's example. "This place doesn't exactly promote the feeling of a good night's sleep."

Fen'harel smirks. "It used to. Many once lived and worked here. Perhaps they will again. Only time will tell."

"I'm ready when you are," Lavellan comments from her snugly resting position.

"One moment," Dorian requests, as he draws his blanket up, "there. All settled."

"Sleep well." Fen'harel casts the spell over them both, watching as their muscles slowly relax, their breaths growing deep and even. He looks over at Cole, who nods with a smile and promptly disappears. Fen'harel smirks and sheds his own armor, sliding into his bedroll with practiced ease, before casting himself into his realm.

* * * * *

"Well, that's new."

Dorian looks about, seeing nothing even remotely familiar. Spirits flit about, well away from him, eying him warily. Worn stairs lead up to the left, a rather surreal half-flooded valley spilling out to the right, and behind him is a thoroughly broken mirror. Murky water seems to fill every crevice on the ground that could possibly hold it, and every surface seems to have been drenched with the same fluid, making everything sparkle in the light of a sickly green glow that emanates from no obvious source. He blinks, tilting his head up to look at a sky that is clouded over, with random bits of debris and architecture floating amongst the clouds. Arlathan rests at the highest point on the horizon, glinting in dark majesty. He tears his eyes away from it with a shudder of apprehension.

This _is what the Fade truly looks like? What an odd place._

He remembers Lavellan telling him to call out to her, so he does. It's certainly better than trying to navigate... _this_ on his own.

"Fen'da'len Lavellan!" he calls, feeling a bit strange as he does so.

Nothing happens. The spirits tilt their heads at him curiously, likely thinking him quite mad. What does he care? They're spirits, they're already mad.

He shivers as a chill courses up his spine. Why is he even wondering what spirits think of him? He decides to try calling for Lavellan once more.

"Fen'da'len Lavellan!" he shouts a bit louder this time, hoping that might help.

Still nothing. He frowns in consternation. He casts about in confused frustration, looking for her. What he finds instead, is a small alcove that he hadn't noticed before. There's a rather comfortable looking armchair there, with a small table beside it, topped with a stack of books. The whole arrangement looks much cleaner than anything else around here, so he walks over to it in curiosity. The book at the top of the pile is written in an ancient dialect of elvish, but he finds with blissful relief that he can read the title easily, and does so aloud to celebrate his small triumph.

"' _An Introduction to the Fade', by Fen'harel, God of Rebellion, Bringer of..._ my, that _is_ a lot of titles." He raises an eyebrow at the list that seems to go on into oblivion, yet somehow manages to not occupy the entire front cover of the book. Shaking his head with an amused snort, he picks up the book and looks at the next in the stack.

"' _Read the Top Book First, Please_ ', by Fen'da'len Lavellan, Inquisitor. What kind of joke is this?" His eyebrows bunch together in confusion.

He lifts that book and reads the next title, "' _It's Not a Joke, Dorian; Read the Top Book First, Please_ ', by Fen'da'len Lavellan, Inquisitor, and currently getting annoyed with her little dragon. Oh for- Fen'da'len, if you're here, just come out already. I doubt you've time for this foolishness."

The book he's just read the _title_ of slides over and topples onto its spine besides the last book, revealing yet another message.

"' _Read the Damn Book, Dorian!_ ' by Fen'da'len Lavellan, Inquisitor, and now glaring angrily at you from outside your dream. Are you bloody serious? If I'd thought visiting the Fade as a somniari for the first time would entail me having to spend hours reading a book _about_ the Fade, I would've stayed awake!"

He huffs and rolls his eyes, setting the last three books to rights on the table. He sighs and resigns himself to reading the first one, eying it with an eyebrow raised skeptically. He looks at the armchair next to the table and reaches down to pat it, making sure that it isn't soaked with whatever fluid seems to coat everything else here. Finding it dry, he sits down with the book in hand, giving it a wary glare. He tips the cover open and reads the first page, which seems to be writing itself as he reads it, the words appearing as his eyes trail after the letters.

' _Thank you! Welcome to the Fade. Now that you're finally listening to instructions, I can speak more freely. Once you turn the page, you're going to be, well... I suppose 'introduced' would be the best term for it. Anyway, you'll be instructed on all the basics, including how to actually get me into your dream. Shouting my name to the heavens will only attract me to your location. It doesn't actually give me permission to enter. I didn't mention that little bit before we slept because I've never had to deal with it before. Fen'harel told me about it when he joined me here. So get on with it, so I can actually join you. Love ya, little dragon. -Your little wolf.'_

Dorian snorts, shaking his head. "Fen'da'len, if you can hear me, tell your wolf god lover that he could've saved us both a lot of grief and confusion. But fine, I'll read his book, since you insist upon it."

_Such_ a strange place. And _this_ is what they both see every night when they sleep? Madness.

He sighs and turns the page, only to find it blank. He frowns, turning to the next page, also blank. Then, the pages begin to glow. Words and glyphs appear, filling the pages with a wealth of information. Before his eyes can even give a cursory scan of the letters, the information begins filtering into his consciousness, filling in the empty spaces he only now realizes were already there. He turns to the next page, the process continuing as he flips to the next, and the next, and the next; until he reaches for another page, only to find that there aren't anymore. He's just read a tome that normally would've taken him at least the better part of a day, in what felt like moments. He looks up in wonder, realizing he understands what he read with perfect clarity. He laughs in shock at his discovery.

Closing the book with a satisfying thump, he stands, setting it next to the... wait, where did the other books go? Ah, the Fade. Right. Shaking his head, he lets the book stay on the table and takes a deep breath as he looks around with a newly enlightened perspective.

"Fascinating," he utters in pure wonder. "Fen'da'len Lavellan, I invite you to enter my personal dream space."

A faint shimmer attracts his gaze to the right of his being. Where there had once been a solid wall of rock, a well-lit cave appears, admitting a large white wolf with black tipped ears, feet and tail. It has six very familiar green eyes, all trained on him. At first, he is more than a little alarmed by the sight, but the wolf doesn't appear to be aggressive. It comes to stand before him and sits, tilting its head to the side and panting happily.

"As... charming as this is, perhaps you could present yourself in a form that can actually, oh, I don't know, form words?" he inquires of the wolf that he is marginally certain is his best friend.

The wolf huffs in what sounds suspiciously like a laugh, and lightning fast, it dips forward to nuzzle his hand... which sets off a most peculiar reaction in his head. He hears his little wolf's voice, clear as if she is actually speaking.

' _Who says I can't form words, little dragon?'_

"Ah!" He jerks back, gaping at the wolf that is either a very clever spirit, or is indeed Fen'da'len herself.

"That was entirely unnecessary. If that's really you, I could've used a warning about this new form of yours, _before_ you dropped in on me in the Fade with it."

He hears the huffing sound again, and the wolf moves forward to compensate for his reaction, nudging his arm.

' _What, and miss the chance to see that look on your face? Never!'_ He hears her laughter in his head and matches it with the huffing laugh of the wolf. _'Besides, this is how I normally appear in the Fade. Ask Fen'harel, if you feel comfortable inviting him here.'_

"That is more than a little disturbing, you know. Not the wolf, so much, but the... mind-talking, or whatever that is. You can't read my thoughts, can you?" he asks, cringing.

That same huffing sounds again, as what he's now reasonably certain is his little wolf nudges him. _'No, little dragon. Not unless you send them across to me. You can do this too, you know. In the Fade, at least. It works for Fen'harel and I outside the Fade, but I think that's more because of our bond, than anything. For now, if you like, you can talk this way with me.'_

He gives her a hesitant look. "I'm not entirely sure I want to. Perhaps I could forgo the telepathy for now, if that's alright with you?"

She shrugs her head, tilting it slightly and straightening. _'If you prefer. Canine vocal cords aren't made for speaking clearly, so if you don't mind, I'll continue like this for now. Do you plan to invite Fen'harel in? He can enter without permission, but he'd rather have it, all the same.'_

"I wouldn't think he'd be interested in petty mortal dreams. Why would he want to be here?"

She seems to be giving him a rather deadpan glare. _'I'm here, am I not? If you were a 'petty mortal' to me, would I be here? Give us both some credit, Dorian. We want to be here because we're your friends, and we want you to enjoy the Fade as much as we do. Is that such a crime?'_

"I-" His copper skin darkens in shame. "No, of course not. You're completely right. I apologize; that was unworthy of me. If he wants to be here, by all means, he has my permission."

She turns to look at the cave behind her with ears perked. He hears the scuff of paws on rough stone just before a second wolf appears. This one, however, he has seen before, in his small house back at Haven.

"Ah, at least I recognize one of you. Hello, Fen'harel."

Fen'harel bows his head gently in acknowledgment. He brushes his face against the white wolf's fur in a greeting, which she returns with a lick to his cheek, making the fur there stick up slightly. Fen'harel continues forward and touches his nose to Dorian's arm.

' _Hello, Dorian. Welcome to my realm. I hear you're having trouble believing this is our little wolf?'_

"Well, I'm becoming more convinced by the moment, but yes. Can you truly blame me? The wolf that I've seen her shift into looks _nothing_ like this, after all."

He hears the laughing huff from Fen'harel, though the sound is deeper, before he's yet again exposed to wet wolf nose and an invasion of words in his head.

' _This is the Fade. Anything one can imagine can happen here. She is merely taking on the form she feels most comfortable in. Note that it is not so dissimilar from my own, coloration aside. She is no demon, or spirit pretender. Even if that were the case, I can assure you that nothing happens here - especially in my presence - that I am unaware of. She is who she claims to be.'_

Dorian nods. "Very well, if you insist. I read your little introduction, so where to now? Preferably somewhere that isn't this dismal little corner in the middle of nowhere."

Fen'harel nuzzles the other- Fen'da'len. She huffs in a decidedly non-humorous fashion, then begins to transform, shrinking back into the shape Dorian is most familiar with.

"Here, you happy now? It's me, little dragon. You're Dorian Pavus, an altus from Tevinter, your father is Magister Halward Pavus. The first night we ever camped together, you fell off your cot and got caught up in your furs. I scared you half to death by showing up at the mouth of your tent, asking if you needed help. That same night, I took way too long to come back from the river with water. I told you I'd seen Arlathan as I slept and felt the magic as it once was. You gave me the little mirror I still carry, because my eyes were glowing thanks to the essence of Fen'harel within me. That good enough? Do you believe it's me yet?"

"Yes, _kaffas_ , alright, I believe you. Maker knows how you know about my father's name, but I believe you."

The relief that floods over her face is palpable. She grins and hugs him. He rolls his eyes with a bemused smirk and hugs her back, shaking his head.

"Silly, sentimental little wolf. I definitely know it's you now; nobody randomly hugs me as much as you do."

She snickers and releases him, backing up to look at him with a crooked smile. "Can you blame me? You're very huggable."

A look of feigned disgust skews his lips. "I am many things: handsome, charming, a brilliant mage, a social pariah. But I have _never_ been called 'huggable'.

She smirks. "Too bad, you have now."

He sighs. "Well, I suppose I couldn't last forever without being called _something_ disturbingly sweet by you, of all people."

She grins, her eyes sparkling with mirth. "You love me and you know it, so hush. Anyway, where shall we go? Surely there's more you want to see than the raw Fade?"

"Well," he says, then pauses, looking around with a grimace. "I'm not entirely sure where to start. I could try to show you something from home, I suppose, but that could be a bad idea. Perhaps one of you could show me something less inflammatory, instead?"

Lavellan shrugs. "We could, but the whole point of this was to let you flex your pseudo-somniari muscles. Thus the book filled with beginner's instructions."

"He's worried you'll be mad when you see the slaves at home."

"Maker!" Dorian whips around, hand over his heart, to see the source of the voice, Cole. "Warn people before you do that!"

"I'm not the Maker! I can't warn you, if you don't want to be warned." Cole seems rather confused by the request.

"I know you aren't. And I just _said_ I wanted to be warned, didn't I?"

"He can't warn you any more than he did, Dorian," Lavellan interjects. "He's talking about your aura. You keep it so tightly wound around you, even here. If you let it relax, you would feel him approach, and you wouldn't need him to warn you."

"Well, that-" He clears his throat, slightly abashed. "That does make more sense, I suppose." He looks at Cole with a slightly apologetic grimace. "I'll try."

Cole looks at him happily, beaming joy and acceptance at him, then gives his attention to Lavellan. Dorian turns to look at her as well.

She smiles, tilting her head as her expression melts into something more serious. "Dorian, about what he said, don't worry about it. For my part, at least. I know slavery is legal in Tevinter. I may not approve, but it's your home, and this is your dream. If you want to see your home, it's up to you. I'm sure you miss it."

"That's really very generous of you, but I was more trying to think of what I could show you that would be interesting. My journey to Southern Thedas wasn't very exciting, and you've been with me nearly since I arrived, so that wouldn't be news to you."

She reaches out and places her palm softly on his cheek, making him look at her. "Dorian. This is your dream. Do what you want. We can participate or just watch from the sidelines. You don't have to hide anything from us, just because you don't think we'll be comfortable with it." She releases his face with a gentle pat, smiling encouragingly.

Dorian swallows thickly, nodding despite his reluctance. He turns and drags in a bracing breath of air, using the information he's absorbed from Fen'harel's book to begin shaping the scene. The raw Fade begins to give way, stuttering and bucking against him in resistance, before finally falling off and revealing the shimmering memory of his room at his family's summer home. There will be less slaves here than there would be in their Minrathous estate. Less for him to be ashamed to show them- to show her.

"These are my chambers in my family's summer home." He sweeps his hand over the room, letting it come to rest with a fond caress on his favorite reading chair in front of the fireplace. "I have many good memories here, though I'm not entirely sure which one we're looking at."

"None," Fen'harel says, "This is not a memory, but a construct. It is well made, for someone so new to manipulating the Fade."

Dorian whirls in surprise at hearing that voice outside of his head, finding Fen'harel has shaken his wolf in favor of an image of him that is both familiar and completely foreign to Dorian. Instead of Fen'harel's usual hobo outfit, he is garbed in finery unlike anything Dorian's ever imagined existed. Fascination, along with an intense stab of envy - it is a rather stunning ensemble, after all - creeps into Dorian's mind, as he looks Fen'harel over in pleasant shock.

"Maker's breath, I never thought to see the day! You're not wearing rags!"

He's met with a rather disapproving glare, which slowly softens into a mischievous smirk. "I wear what is appropriate for every occasion. In the Inquisition, I dress to escape notice, to be invisible. I am in my realm, now; there is no need for any such deception. Thus, I am wearing what I am comfortable in."

Dorian snorts, eyebrow cocked in derision. "Comfortable? That outfit is exquisite. I'm assuming it's a taste of elvhen fashion of some sort, yes?"

"Correct." Fen'harel nods his acknowledgment. "It is a casual robe that was a popular style among the nobility, at the height of Elvhenan's golden age."

"Casual, is it? What would formalwear have been, then?"

Fen'harel smirks, and an intricate black robe trimmed in precious gems and embroidered with something that looks like liquid lyrium appears on his person. His hair is delicately braided, and accented with the same threads of lyrium, which hold a miniaturized solid onyx wolf skull to his brow, inlaid with silverite. He holds up his hand, looking at nails that are coated in silverite as he affects an air of relaxed boredom. "I wore this to a gathering Mythal hosted, once. I suppose if anything was a formal event at the time, her parties could be counted as such."

"Is that _lyrium_ embroidery?" Dorian asks, his jaw dropping slightly.

Fen'harel grins, dropping his assumed facade of disinterest. "Yes. You are wondering how it bends with the fabric, or stays in place at all, I assume?"

Dorian only nods emphatically.

Fen'harel chuckles. "There are many things that have been forgotten or lost throughout the ages. Using lyrium as anything but a magical aid is one of them. It is something that will be learned again, soon."

Dorian shakes his head, giving a half chuckle dripping with admiration. "I can't wait to learn. I know just the right people to make that all the rage for the next century of fashion."

"I'm sure." Fen'harel gives a small smile as he returns his clothing to the original casual robe. "Shall we see the rest of your home, or do you wish to go elsewhere?"

Dorian snaps himself back to their present location, shaking the thoughts of a new fashion empire from his head. "Right. I suppose we could tour the estate, if you would like to see it. I doubt it will live up to any expectations you might have, if that outfit was any indication of elvhen architecture."

"I shall attempt to lower my expectations, then," Fen'harel replies with a tempered smirk. Lavellan elbows him in the ribs, giving him a sidelong glare of disapproval.

Dorian purses his lips as his eyebrow flickers up in displeasure. "I've no doubt you'll succeed." He sighs and turns with a roll of his eyes toward the door, waving them on. "Follow me, then."

He swings the door open and heads into the hall outside, taking a deep breath as he walks the familiar steps toward the drawing room. He turns the corner and encompasses the room with a wave of his hand as he walks through the archway. "This is the drawing room."

Dorian points with a distinct lack of interest at several different doors dotting the walls. "Dining room's through there, father's study through there, mother's sitting room there."

Lavellan's eyebrow flicks up in curiosity at him. "Are you alright, little dragon? You don't seem terribly invested in showing us this place."

Dorian graces her with a shadow of a smirk. "It just isn't very interesting, that's all. I'm afraid my family's estates weren't much more or less opulent than any other Magister's, so what I show you will be nothing special. Unless you have a particular interest in Tevinter architecture that I'm unaware of, it's all rather boring, really."

"Then what would you rather show us, Dorian?" Fen'harel asks, shrugging and letting his hands fall to his sides. "This is the Fade; anything you can imagine can be reality here."

Dorian crosses his arms, head tilted. " _Any_ thing? So, if I decided to summon up visions of orgies or rows of glorious men, it would happen?"

Fen'harel sighs, pinching his brow between his thumb and forefinger. He shakes his head, glaring at Dorian as he lets his hand drop back to his side. "Yes, it would happen. I would greatly appreciate it if you waited until after we left to visit the brothel in your mind, however. And do be cautious; scenarios such as those are beacons for demons wishing to tempt you. I will not be here to protect you, should you decide on such a dream space."

Before Dorian can answer, there is an odd feeling at the edge of his mind, like someone testing a ward he'd set out while waking. But he had set out no wards before he fell into the Fade. He holds up his hand for silence, listening. He hears nothing, so speaks instead as he lowers his hand. "I'm not entirely certain, but it feels like someone is trying to get in... or perhaps knocking? I can't hear anything though. It's quite an odd sensation. I didn't feel it when either of you were trying to get in."

Fen'harel takes a step toward him, concern clear in his face. "Tell me exactly how it feels. Does it feel hostile, or friendly?"

Dorian's face scrunches in a concentrated frown. "Neither. It feels... curious? Like it's testing something. I'm not sure how else to describe it. It's slightly familiar, if that helps. Though... no, that's actually _more_ confusing."

Lavellan quirks her head. "How so?"

Dorian looks at her with baffled confusion. "It feels like _you_. I don't know how that's possible, but that's what it feels like."

Lavellan stares past Dorian for a moment. He can feel her mana seeping from her and stealing to the corners of his dream space. Then, what he recognizes as joyful realization dawns on her face. "Sylaise's tits! I know what that is! I can't believe he found me in here. Dispel your house, if you would. I need to pop out of your dream space for a moment to be certain."

He gives her a look of skeptical confusion and surprise, but does as she asks. He watches as she transforms into her Fade wolf and sprints back to the cave she'd entered from, then he turns to Fen'harel with a raised eyebrow. "Do you have any idea what's gotten into her?"

Fen'harel shakes his head, his expression just as perplexed as Dorian's emotions. "I haven't the faintest clue. I did not smell fear on her, but she was quite excited. I should follow her, in case she encounters something she cannot handle. Stay here."

Dorian is about to object to being ordered around in his own dream space, when Fen'harel simply disappears, completely forgoing the manner of escape Lavellan had used for expedience. Dorian huffs, planting his hands on his hips in annoyance. "Well! No need to be _rude_."

He purses his lips and looks around with an anxious sigh. His hands leave his hips, abandoning their posts in favor of crossing over his chest, his arms following tensely. Seconds feel like minutes as he stares at the cave, waiting for _some_ thing to come through it.

Anything.

Really.

He groans, giving up his station to walk over to the mouth of the cave, grimacing at it as he looks it over in distaste. It's not quite tall enough for him to walk through without stooping down a bit, which he is certain would leave him with an insufferable neck cramp. The wolves are tall, but not quite as tall as he is, thankfully. Or maybe not thankfully, seeing as this tunnel is definitely shaped for them. He straightens reflexively, rolling his shoulders as he considers what action to take. If he tries to follow them, Fen'harel will be cross; not that Dorian would normally care a whit if he was, but this _is_ Fen'harel's realm after all: probably best not to piss off the owner of the realm one is actually _in_.

But what if their little wolf is in danger? What if they need an extra hand? Is it even safe for him to leave his own dream space? This wasn't covered by that damnable book she'd made him read. Just as he's about to begin pacing in conflicted worry, he hears the scuffle of paws on the stone floor of the cave. He sighs in relief at the sound, tapping his foot and crossing his arms as he waits.

Lavellan races out of the darkness, circling Dorian with all the excitement of an overjoyed dog, nearly knocking him over in her exuberance.

"Maker's teeth, you're excited! Care to clue me in to the reason for this overabundance of energy?"

She shakes herself and slips into her elvhen form, a grin gracing her lips as she bounces in apparent utter joy. "Dorian! Little dragon, guess what?"

He smiles and laughs slightly. "I have no idea, little wolf; what's happened?"

She looks as if she's about to launch herself into the sky as she jumps and throws her arms around his shoulders in a hug that threatens to cut off all blood supply to his head.

She kisses his cheek and answers with a not-quite whisper, "My brother's here!"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> By the by, if any of you are interested, here's my info:  
> Skype: shannaleia  
> Tumblr: [Actually-Fen-Harel](http://actually-fen-harel.tumblr.com/)  
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> DeviantArt: [ActuallyFenHarel](http://actuallyfenharel.deviantart.com/)
> 
> I'm on Skype 24/7, unless I'm asleep, or not at home.
> 
> Want my book? Get it here: [The Enemy In Me](http://www.amazon.com/dp/B00QZ5AI1K)
> 
> Thanks for reading! If you enjoy the story, or this chapter in particular, please feel free to leave a review with your thoughts! I love reading comments, and reply to all of them. <3


	21. Chapter 21

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Translations provided in hover text.  
> Just to be clear, when indicating Fen'da'len's actions and whatnot, I'll be using either the Lavellan identifier, Inquisitor, or her given/chosen name, from now on. Too many Lavellan's are crawling into this story now to help but specify. :P

"A little air, please!" Dorian manages with a strained voice in her ear.

"Oh! Shit, sorry." She releases him and steps back with a sheepishly apologetic grimace. Only a second or two passes before it returns to the full grin she's been carrying ever since she came back, her ears up and shivering with excitement.

"Your brother, you say? I thought you were an only child?" Dorian's brow furrows in confusion as he recovers from her hug assault.

She tilts her head, ears stilling. "When did I ever say that?"

That gives him pause. "Well I... suppose you didn't, specifically. I do seem to recall you telling me a story about you growing up very much alone in your clan, and only starting to make friends in your early teenage years, however. So, this is the first I'm hearing of any actual relatives."

"Oh, right. Well, my brother didn't actually arrive until I was eight years old or so. He'd been with father in our old clan until his magic manifested, and father gave him to us during the Arlathvhen. Their clan couldn't have any more mages, so he came to us. Same reason I was sent to Lavellan with mother, but since mother didn't survive, we were still short a mage."

"Your mother died? I'm sorry to hear it."

She blanches, mouth hanging slightly open just a touch too long before she remembers to close it, her teeth coming together with a click. "I... no. It's alright." She looks away and swallows tightly, then looks back at him with something resembling a smile. "Anyway, Tylaise is waiting with Solas outside your dream space. We can go to him, or you can invite him in, either way."

"How is he even here? Is he a somniari too? I thought those were incredibly rare?" Dorian wonders.

She smirks at him. "Remember what Mythal said about my bloodline? Every mage in my family has the gift. It's a bit of a curse really, as our birth rates are incredibly low, likely because of that gift. Having a sibling in our line is almost unheard of, but I managed to get lucky. Perhaps fate knew our mother would die, so it gave us another life in trade? I don't know. In any case, I haven't seen him in a month or so, but he's here now, if you'd like to meet him."

Dorian nods. "Certainly. How exactly do I get out of my dream space? That wasn't covered in your wolf's book."

"This way," she responds with a smile, waving her hand out toward the cave. She lifts her hand, sending magic out to raise the roof of the cave, adjusting it for Dorian's height, then walking into it. The tunnel ends abruptly, depositing her in the raw Fade. Fen'harel and Tylaise stand off to her left, engaged in conversation with a spirit. Cole watches from the sidelines. She turns to see Dorian exiting the cave and looking about in cautious curiosity until his eyes land on her again.

"Well this is interesting. It looks almost exactly like my own dream space."

She chuckles. "It should." She waves him on. "Come, meet my brother."

Lavellan steps toward Tylaise, flicking her mana out to sweep the staff he's leaning on out from under him. He doesn't move an inch as the staff clatters to the ground- his posture is a ruse.

"How many times are you going to try that old trick, before you realize I figured it out years ago, sister?" He calls out in trade, looking over his shoulder at her with a devious smirk, ears flicking with mischief.

"Until I try it and you've forgotten it, brother," she responds in elvish, testing him.

"Ooh, someone's been studying! Or did your _hah'ren_ over here teach you?" he asks in broken elvish and trade, nodding his head at Fen'harel.

She switches to trade entirely with a sigh of resignation. "Neither, but that will come in time, brother. We have things to discuss. Before that, though, Tylaise of Clan Lavellan, I would like you to meet Dorian of House Pavus, one of my best friends and most loyal companions. It's his dream space you were so graciously humping."

  
Tylaise Lavellan

Tylaise flushes from his cheeks to his ears, which now lay low and close to his head. "I did no such thing! I knocked! Eagerly, I admit, but it was still a knock."

She snorts. "Yes, but with which head?"

Fen'harel sighs. "Enough, both of you."

Tylaise gives a small bow to Fen'harel. " _Ir abelas, hah'ren_." He looks at Dorian with a sly smirk, his ears flicking back up with obvious interest. "Hello there, handsome."

Dorian looks at her with a raised eyebrow. "Is he always like this, or am I a special case?"

She chuckles. "Are you asking if he's always an insufferable flirt, or if he's always so bad at it?"

Tylaise flicks his wrist, calling his staff back into his hand from where it'd fallen on the ground. "I am not bad at it. You simply have yet to recognize my genius because I'm your brother and you're not supposed to be attracted to your brother. Technically."

"Yes, well, pleasure to meet you, Tylaise of Clan Lavellan. I hope you won't be terribly offended, but it's rare I call your sister by her name. Usually we call each other nicknames."

Tylaise's eyes go wide with excited glee upon hearing this, sliding his staff into its holster on his back to free his hands, which he claps eagerly. "Ooh, don't keep me in suspense! What are your nicknames for each other, then?"

She rolls her eyes and points at Dorian. "Da'isenatha."

Dorian jerks a thumb at her. "Da'fen."

Tylaise rubs his hands together, ears flicking again. "Oh my! Little dragon, is it? Are you a dragon in bed, or is there some other reason my sister has graced you with this name?"

Dorian looks at Tylaise, then smirks at Lavellan, before he dramatically turns and melts the nearest rock with a white-hot gout of sustained flames. Water quickly rushes into the newly vacated spot, dousing the molten rock and hissing loudly as it evaporates into a billowing cloud of steam. Dorian steps away from the cloud and gestures to it as he smiles at Tylaise.

"Little dragon. It's rather appropriate, I think."

Tylaise whistles appreciatively. "Elgar'nan's cock, I guess it is!"

Lavellan doesn't miss the wide-eyed glance and stifled snort of Fen'harel at Tylaise's irreverence. He covers the choked snort admirably with a well-timed cough. She bites her lip to tamp down her urge to snicker at his reaction.

Tylaise looks at Fen'harel with concern. "You alright, hah'ren?"

Fen'harel shakes his head, waving off her brother's concern. "I am fine, da'len. You needn't worry."

"What a ridiculous display. I quite enjoyed that rock you just melted, mortal." The spirit Tylaise and Fen'harel had been speaking with earlier deigned to raise its voice.

Lavellan quirks her head at it. "He was asked to explain how he earned his nickname. If you are so eager to have the rock back, this is the Fade. It can be reformed easily enough."

"Oh yes, because everything in this realm is so easily replaced! Kill a spirit why don't you, it can just be replaced!"

"I never said anything about—"

"Respect where respect is due, twin, but your ignorance bodes ill."

Fen'harel interjects at that, "Enough! You did not let her speak, Truth."

"That... apologies, old friend. You are correct." Truth looks to Lavellan. "Speak then, twin. I will listen."

She gives a small bow of her head. "' _Ma serannas, elgar_. Perhaps you could explain to me why you see the rock as irreplaceable? I am well aware of how spirits reform as new entities when they die, but I would ask your view on how a rock is any different here than in the world I wake in, if you would give it."

Truth chuckles. "It is a fair question, asked with respect, twin. But in honesty, it is not any different. I am simply an obstinate ass, who doesn't actually care about the damn rock. I just wanted to see how you would react."

Lavellan's eyebrows flit up in mild surprise. "So, this was a test?"

"Yes."

"And... did I pass?"

"Mostly. You would have scored higher had your watchdog twin not intervened. But as it is, yes, you passed, for as much as that matters."

Lavellan blinks, her brow creasing for a second, before somewhat uncertain a smile spreads across her face. "Well good. I'm glad to hear it. I think."

"Is everyone my sister's twin now? Do I get a turn? I was the original, after all." Tylaise snorts.

Truth doesn't bother answering him, instead opting to float off, away from all of them.

Fen'harel offers a kind smile to Tylaise. "It has completed its purpose with our little group, I'm afraid."

"I see that. So, anyone care to tell me why the gorgeous Tevinter is allowed to call my sister a little wolf? Just being pretty doesn't give him the right to call her that."

" _Da'hale_! If I do not have a problem with it, neither should you. You do not own that name for me." Lavellan chastises her brother.

"But I used it _first_ , _da'fen_. First, I find you've somehow removed that cursed _vallaslin_ of yours, now I hear you're letting _shems_ use my name for you? What is really going on over at Haven, sister?"

"Haven?" She pauses, pursing her lips and shaking her head with a sigh. "I suppose the news wouldn't have arrived yet. We're not at Haven anymore, brother. It was destroyed by our enemy. Most of us made it out alive, but many died. Remember what I told you the last time you saw me?"

He nods. "Of course. You said there was much more than you could say just then, but that you'd tell me everything once it was time."

She chuckles. "I keep forgetting you have such perfect memory. But yes, that is what I said, and it is now past time that you know everything."

She forms the scene around her, to tell the story more quickly, from the beginning.

* * * * *

"Falon'din's oath!" Tylaise exclaims, his face riddled with utter shock and horror. The scene around them dissipates, leaving them standing in the raw Fade. Tylaise feels more than a bit dazed, and a little dizzy.

Fen'harel chortles. "Falon'din never swore an oath in his life. Dirthamen would've thrown a party in celebration of the occasion if he had."

Tylaise continues to gape at Fen'harel, his mind whirling into a downward spiral of disbelief. "No. Impossible. You can't be— no! No, I won't believe it."

Lavellan smiles at him sympathetically, though it barely feels like sympathy from where he's standing. "Believe it or not, _da'hale_ , he _is_ Fen'harel. It took time for me to accept it as well, but it is the truth. Mythal could confirm it, were she here. But, now you know everything."

Tylaise barely manages to summon a bench beneath him before he falls flat on his ass. None of this makes sense. Is this even truly his sister? Time magic, holes in the Fade, their own gods, and his _sister_ soon to become one herself? How does one even begin to fathom all of this? He can't look at any of them, save the _shem_ , and isn't _that_ a bitter dose of irony? Not that he isn't beautiful for a _shem_ , but that's not the point. How has he just _now_ learned of all this? Since when did his sister not trust him implicitly with everything, _especially_ something this huge; something that affects all of the People? When he finally manages to shift his eyes to her, it is with fiery ire, ears plastered to his head and menacingly low.

"And you couldn't tell me a _month_ ago? Why? What has changed so that you would deem _this_ the time to tell me? You've _never_ kept anything from me, why keep all of this? You were not marked for Dirthamen, sister- I _know_ you. I've known you since our birth, we've always trusted each other. Tell me _why_!" He's shouting his demands at her by the time he finishes, his mind blown into fully panicked fury now.

He watches as she reaches for him, but his glare makes her stop and back away, the hurt plain in her eyes. She sets her jaw and tips her chin up, folding her hands behind her back. He knows that look. That's her 'First' look.

" _Da'hale_ , I told you exactly when you needed to be told. If I'd told you the last time I saw you, it could have compromised any number of things. It is _because_ I trust you that I tell you at all- you _do_ understand this, yes?"

He grinds his teeth together in frustration. It will do no good to argue it further, he knows this. But oh, he wants to. He nods tersely, instead. "I do, _da'fen._ You'll excuse me, however, if I still find the whole situation not only suspect, but ludicrous. You are no god's _puppet,_ " he spits the word, "you should make your own decision about this 'raising' of theirs. You know better than to let yourself be pushed into anything, let _alone_ something this... monumental. Stop and _think_ , sister."

"She is not being pushed by anything but her own soul, little one, and she is thinking as clearly as she's able," comes a new, feminine voice from behind him.

He twists to find an older _shem_ with very interesting apparel and... a rather unique hairstyle. "And you would be?"

The woman chuckles, looking over top of him to speak to his sister. "Ahh, Fen'da'len, I'm surprised you haven't told your brother about me."

He turns to see his sister bowing her head slightly before she answers, "I did, All-Mother, but I didn't have time to tell him of your physical appearance." She looks down at him, then raises a hand in presentation, gesturing to both, in turn. "Tylaise of Clan Lavellan, meet Flemeth- Asha'belannar, witch of the wilds and vessel of Mythal."

He scrambles up off the bench he'd summoned and whirls to face the woman who is apparently Mythal, staring wide-eyed at the second god he's met in the past half hour. Before he can gather his usually quick wits, she speaks.

"It's a pleasure to meet you." She gives him a genuine smile. "Always wonderful to see the twins in your fine bloodline. Will you be joining us, or is this a chance meeting?"

It takes a moment for him to form a response. "I- I am not with her group, I am with my clan," he manages, bowing his head hurriedly in deference. "It is an honor to meet you, All-Mother."

She smiles, then tilts her head, gaze sweeping over him appraisingly. "Since when have masters of this realm ever been confined to one earthly place? Or do you not know how to move through it properly?"

He swallows and shakes his head. "I do not know what you speak of, All-Mother."

She straightens, pursing her lips as her eyes narrow at him, a thoughtful hum escaping her. "Your sister knows it, whether she realizes it or not. Come, I will show you both. After that, we must see to the reason we've gathered. The moon will not wait long."

He gives her a small bow, still very unsure of all this, but he dares not delay a goddess if that is indeed what she is. " _'Ma serannas_ , All-Mother."

She smiles beatifically, beckoning them to follow her with a slight jerk of her chin as she turns and moves from the group.

Tylaise looks back at his twin, uncertainty, and worry in his heart, and reaches for her hand, twining his fingers with hers. This is their signal, their silent communication that says, 'we'll do it _together'_. It is just as true now as it always has been. Much as he may find all of this frankly _insane_ , he can endure it with her at his side.

They follow Mythal together, leaving the rest of the group behind, trailing the goddess in her mortal body down a set of stairs to a small lake. She walks out onto the surface of the lake as if it were dry land, and after a moment, they follow. She stops and turns, smiling at them, hand calling for a halt.

"You are both aware," she begins, "of how to step short distances through the Fade, yes?" She only waits long enough for them both to nod, before she continues, "What I will teach you is much the same." She looks at Tylaise as she explains, "You will need to go to the place in the Fade that is relative to your body in the waking world and begin to cast there, from inside the Fade. The difference is, you'll have to throw yourself to here, rather than just a few paces away. It will drain your mana in its entirety. Be certain anywhere you throw your physical form is a safe place. You will not be able to wake immediately, as your body will need time to recover. Simply wait it out, or have someone ready to heal you at your destination. Go now, Fen'da'len will wait in the Fade while the rest of us wake and await your arrival."

Tylaise tilts his head in confusion. "How is it that others haven't figured this out if that's really all it takes?"

Mythal laughs. "How many other dreamers like you and your sister do you know, child? There are precious few of you in this age, and it takes either a god or someone with your gifts to be able to perform such a feat. Those without the gift do not have the needed control, and even those with it should only use the ability sparingly."

He frowns worriedly. "Is it that dangerous?"

"Only if used recklessly," Mythal cautions, "or too often. Otherwise no, it is not."

He nods, taking a deep breath and expelling it in a rush. He lets his hand fall from his twin's, a quiet chuckle slipping past his lips. "Well, wish me luck, _'ma da'fen_. Hopefully, I'll see you outside the Fade soon. I have to let Desha know before I leave, so give me some time... unless you want to come help me convince her?" he asks with a hopeful smile.

His twin scoffs. "And let her see my bare face? Would that really be a selling point for letting you come here?"

He ponders it for but a moment before an idea strikes him, and he leaps at the chance to turn a possible negative to their favor, instead. "Of course! She'll be happy you finally gave up the _vallaslin_ of Fen'harel! You know how adamantly against your obsession with him she always was; she'll see this as you turning a new leaf!" At his twin's skeptical grimace, he tries to supplicate her, "Tell you what, if she doesn't like it, I'll claim responsibility for the idea of you getting rid of it. How's that for fair?"

She laughs. "Why would she believe that? You've never had anything against my choice, why would you change your mind now?"

"I don't know!" he exclaims, exasperated. "I just want you with me when I tell her I'm going. I mean, you both know I can't stay forever. She's gonna be pissed I left to begin with, even if I return tomorrow for some reason. I just... need some moral support," he admits pitifully, allowing a tiny pout to grace his lips.

"Perhaps you two should work this out on the way there," Mythal interjects, ushering them both along with a gentle wave of her hands. "If we're to complete the ritual tonight, it must be soon."

A few moments of thanks and apology later, they set off towards their destination. Mythal watches them leave, and Tylaise casts a glance back to see her looking after them with a fondly amused expression. He turns his head back in the direction his feet are headed, shaking it softly in wonder as he bumps his shoulder into his sister's to get her attention.

"She really is the All-Mother, isn't she? She even watches us go like a mother would. So strange," he observes, with no small amount of amazement.

Lavellan chuckles quietly. "I take it you didn't expect me to have such interesting acquaintances?"

Tylaise squeaks an incredulous snort, looking at his sister like she's gone mad. "Is that a serious question?"

Lavellan laughs, tossing her head back, her eyes closing tightly as her laughter escapes in a cascade of mirth. She shakes her head bemusedly as she starts to regain her composure enough to speak. "You know, he asked me the exact same thing when I met him. Fen'harel, I mean."

Tylaise feels an unpleasant shudder snake its way up his spine at hearing her compare this situation to anything she'd had with the Dread Wolf. "I'd rather I hadn't asked that, now."

A quick jab of her elbow in his ribs is her initial response, along with an indignantly shocked scowl. "Tylaise! Really? And here I was in a good mood. You're so rude sometimes." She tuts her disapproval at him.

He rolls his eyes. "Oh, come on, _da'fen_ ; he's the Dread Wolf for fuck's sake! I get that you've been in love with him practically since you were born, but you're bonded to the actual article, Fen'da'len! Fen'harel himself! How can that possibly be a good thing?"

She sends a spark of electricity to his shoulder in reprimand, like she always has. "Do you _know_ him, _'ma da'hale_? Have you talked to him at all, beyond that one conversation? Have you taken the time to get to know the elvhen behind the legends?"

"Of course not!" He scoffs. "I just met him after all; how could I?"

She levels him with that _look_ again, her 'First' look. "I _have_ , Tylaise. I know his mind. I know how he thinks, how he feels... what he _is_. You've already been told the truth about him; why not give him a bit of time and patience before you jump to conclusions based on ages-old superstitious nonsense? I mean really, brother, I know you're smarter than to judge a book by its bindings."

He growls at her jab to his intellect, rolling his eyes again. "You know it's more than that, Fen'da'len. Even if _most_ of the legends are false, he's still a trickster. You don't know what he could be planning. With..." he pauses at the thought, but charges on, "with you immortal now, his plans for you could stretch out centuries. You would never know until it was too late. I might not be alive then, but I don't want that fate for you. You're my twin sister, _da'fen_. I can't just sit back and watch you do this, without at the _very_ least voicing my objections. You know this."

She stops and grabs his shoulder, pulling him into a tight embrace. "I will always love you, _da'hale_ ," she murmurs into his ear quietly, her tone turning from serious to amused as she continues, "but sometimes, even with that incredible mind of yours, you can be amazingly thick."

He scrambles out of her embrace, offended shock clear upon his visage. "I am _not_ thick! The very notion is insulting."

She chuckles, shaking her head somewhat apologetically. "You misunderstand me, Tylaise. I meant no insult, _'ma ir abelas_. What I mean is, it's always been impossible for you to see real love when you were confronted with it. It's no less true here. I've loved the _idea_ of him for my whole life, but when I actually came to _know him_ , it became something entirely different. I love him, _da'hale_. Truly and fully. But he is _my_ god. And I am his mate... and I couldn't be happier to know this truth. I'm not saying he doesn't confuse or even frighten me sometimes. The sheer fact that he is a walking, living, breathing _god_ that I can hold in my arms and truly worship and love as he deserves astounds me. But I'm not a fool. I know he's a trickster. You know as well as I do what happened before, how I was burned. But I want it to work this time. I've been given a second chance. I am holding onto it with both hands for dear life, because I want it so badly. Please, believe me, Tylaise. If nothing else, believe me, as you always have."

He regards her with a solemnly concerned bearing for a few moments, studying her features carefully. He ticks his jaw to the side in contemplation, rubbing the flat surfaces of his incisors together absently. He rights his jaw and takes a breath, letting it out slowly and nodding at the end. "Alright, _da'fen_. I don't get it, at all; but if you say he makes you happy, then I will give him a chance to prove himself to me." He grinds his teeth and speaks through them as he sends out a small prayer that he now knows can be heard, but not responded to, yet. "Falon'din guide me."

She smiles at him, and he's certain she's holding back the tears he can see in her eyes for his sake. "Oh, come 'ere." He enfolds her in his arms and rubs her back gently. "Don't cry on me now, you know I'm no good at the blubbering. We'll see, alright? I don't get any of this, but I'll give him a chance, what chance I can with my little life."

He feels and hears her watery chuckle. "Are you saying you want to become like me, brother? I would gladly do it, you know, if that was something you wanted. I don't know how yet, but I can ask."

His stroking of her back pauses as shock races through him. He hadn't actually considered having the option until this second. Could he really do that, though? His sister hadn't made the choice to become immortal, it had simply happened that way; the gift of a grateful god. What would he even do with a gift like that? Watch his clan grow old and die, generation after generation, watch the face of Thedas change and bend to the will of time... he shakes his head, chasing away his stunned musings.

"I... can't decide that right now, sister. I... I'll think on it, and I thank you for the offer, but that's a massive decision that'll take some time to consider." He slowly resumes his soothing motions on her back. "In the meantime, I think we should get on with getting me to where you are, before it's too late. Come on." He lets her go and withdraws with a tight-lipped smile.

She returns his smile, adding a nod before she once again turns herself in the direction they'd been traveling before she stopped them. He follows and twines their hands together tightly. He can feel her start to cast a portal for them, and starts to funnel his mana into her efforts, but she cuts him off with a shake of her head.

"No, you'll need all your mana, and who knows, maybe even some of mine, to get your move done. I'll cast this."

Before he can object, there's a hole in the ground big enough for the both of them. He shrugs his eyebrows and jumps in when she does, as they'd done a thousand times. They surface in a much closer spot. He lets go of her hand in his excitement to jog ahead and find Desha. He can feel the pull of his real body nearby, wanting to wake. He suppresses it, and keeps looking. He's already passed several non-mage members of his Clan, but he knows they won't recognize him as more than a figment, if they notice his presence at all. He filters through several small dream spaces, then finally, he sees Desha.

She's standing quietly, watching over the Clan as she normally does. She can't control the Fade like he and Fen'da'len can, but he's discovered through the years that she does indeed dream quite lucidly for a non-somniari mage. He approaches her calmly and smiles. " _Savhalla_ , Desha, I've got some news. Have you got time to hear it?"

Desha looks at him with a quirked eyebrow. "Does it look like I'm doing anything, Tylaise?" Her brow furrows in annoyance as she looks him over. "Why are you jumpin' around like an august ram, boy? Calm yourself! Do you want to wake the whole clan?"

He grimaces and does his best to keep from fidgeting. "Sorry Desha. I brought Fen'da'len. And there's... so much to tell you, but most of it's got to wait. I've only got enough time to tell you the basics before I have to go."

A confused frown graces her features at first, but as she looks over Tylaise' shoulder, the confusion is replaced by shock. "Fen'da'len? What... what happened, girl?"

He turns to see his sister's tight smile of greeting, watching as she comes to stand next to him. " _Savhalla_ , Desha. Tylaise is right. We have many things to tell you, but we've got to go now. Two of the Creators demand our presence elsewhere. We've come to retrieve Tylaise's physical form and bring him to where I am."

"What?! What are you talking about, you can't just... wait, two _Creators_? Explain yourselves!" Desha looks halfway between wanting to smack them both for speaking nonsense, and intensely curious to know if what they're saying is actually true.

His sister sighs and gently takes Desha's hand. "Look, I don't know how well this will work, but I'm going to try it anyway, because we don't have the time. Desha, just trust me and listen, okay?"

He watches as Desha starts to respond, but is interrupted by shocked silence as her eyes begin to glow brightly. He looks to see his sister's eyes closed, her face scrunched in concentration as she brings up her other hand to cover her and their Keeper's combined hands. The glow in Desha's eyes brightens at the added contact, as she looks searchingly forward, eyelids slowly blinking every now and again. The bizarre scene continues for another half minute. Then suddenly, his sister opens her eyes and looks at Desha, whose eyes are now softly dimming and returning to their normal stormy gray.

Desha looks about, seemingly dazed and trying to focus. Her head gives a quick little shake, which apparently clears her head enough, because she immediately stares in abject horror at Fen'da'len, as she snatches her hand from his sister's grasp.

"What are you, a demon? I've not met any dreamer that could do such a thing. You've invaded my mind, filled it with falsehoods! Begone!"

He steps forward, holding his hands up in a placating manner, hoping to calm her. "No, Desha, listen. She's no demon. I'm not sure what she just did, but that is my twin, my sister, _'ma da'fen_. She's not here to hurt anyone, alright?"

Desha shakes her head at him, vehemently denying his words. "No! I will not believe it. It filled my head with lies and blasphemy! It's a demon!"

Tylaise sighs. "Desha." She's not paying him any mind, preferring to keep her wary gaze on his 'demon' sister. "Desha, look at me!" She finally does. "Would you believe that she's my sister if she can take her favorite shape here?"

Desha appears to consider that for a few seconds, then nods, speaking quietly so only he can hear, "Yes. If a demon can copy that, then we're all lost anyway." She looks to Lavellan and raises her voice again. "Very well demon, what is Fen'da'len's favorite form in the Fade? Show us."

His sister gives Desha an understanding smile and falls forward onto the paws of her favored form, exactly as it's always appeared. She comes up to Desha and nuzzles her hand. Desha's eyes glow again, but only for a moment this time.

"Is it, now? Well if you truly are Fen'da'len Lavellan, then where have all these powers come from? She did not possess them before." Desha remains suspicious, which is so typically Desha, Tylaise nearly snickers.

Lavellan sheds her wolf and stands, tilting her head at Desha. "Search the memories I gave you, Desha. I know it's not easy to filter through. You might not remember all of it when you wake, but I tried to make sure to get the important parts across. I can only hope it worked."

Desha snorts. "Oh it worked. It's not as clear as my own memories, but I can see quite a bit of what you fed me. I don't want to believe any of it."

His sister sighs. "I know you don't, Desha. I didn't either, at first. But it's the truth. I hope I got enough across for you to see at least most of the picture."

Desha shakes her head at his twin. "I see clearly enough to know that you've finally found the wolf you've been pining over since you were a wee young thing, lying on the floor of my ara'vel and begging me to take away her magic. I also see that he took his cursed mark from your face. I suppose I should be thankful for that much. But the All-Mother? And you, one of the pantheon?! No. Never. I won't believe it until I see it with my own eyes. You want to take your brother with you, go. You can't keep him though. I want him back, you hear me? Our Clan needs a First, no matter who it is. I want him reporting to me. I want to stay in the know. Those are my conditions. Accept them or he stays." Desha nods her head firmly as she states her stance.

"' _Ma serannas_ , Deshanna. I agree." His sister bows her head gently in deference.

"Then go. If this tale of yours is true, you'd best not keep Mythal waiting." Desha looks to him. "Go with my blessings, Tylaise. I'd best see you here weekly telling me what's happened."

He bows his head in mirror of his twin. "Of course, Desha. I'll be here."

Desha nods acceptingly. " _Tuelanen ama na,_ Tylaise... Fen'da'len."

His sister nods her gratitude. " _Sule tael tasalal_ , Keeper. _'Ma serannas_."

Tylaise echoes his sister's thanks, then turns to looks at his physical form through the warping mirror of the veil. He begins to gather his mana around him, the spirits nearby amplifying it. Then his twin folds her left hand into his right, a green spark flooding the scene with pure, unfiltered power. Before he can blink, his body is before him, and he's being sucked into it without any chance of him resisting the pull.

He wakes in his body... still in the Fade. He looks up at his sister, who's smirking mischievously down at him. She reaches down, offering a hand up. He takes it and hauls himself up slowly, feeling weakened from lack of mana, to look around in stuttering awe. This is really it- he's in the Fade, physically. In all his dreaming years, he'd never thought it would be possible. He looks at his twin in wonder.

"I'm... here? Actually here?" is all he can ask.

She nods, smiling kindly at him. "Yes. It's not exactly the spell Mythal intended, but it will work. Welcome to the Fade, _da'hale_."

He gives an incredulous snort, looking around with eyes wide. "I never thought to see it like this." He frowns slightly. "Has it always been this... green?"

His sister chuckles, nodding. "Yes, _da'hale_. Why do you think my mark glows green? It is the essence and power of the Fade itself."

He shakes his head in amazement. "I never realized it was this color. It's always looked colorless to me. And you," he looks at her, squinting, "you look almost like a spirit. I can almost see through you."

She smiles, pointing to Desha. "Not as much as our Keeper."

He looks over to Desha and startles, jumping back just slightly. "Gods! She's barely there! How utterly strange."

His sister's smirking when he turns back to her. "Yes, it is. But come, we have to go. Your mana's drained. I'll bring us as close as I can to where we need to be."

He nods and twines his hand with hers, her grip tight and real, despite her only being there in spirit. So very strange. She makes a portal in front of them, and he jumps in with her. They emerge next to the lake Mythal had brought them to. They move to where the handsome _shem's_ dream space had been, and she starts to cast again. He feels an inexorable pull, and with a flash of pure viridian light, everything goes black.

* * * * *

She awakens a lot more exhausted than normal and shakes it off as best she can. She casts about groggily, looking for her brother. She finds him propped up against the inactive _el'u'vi'an_ , with Fen'harel pouring healing magic into his body. Dorian is watching blearily from his bedroll and Cole looks on worriedly. Mythal is standing nearby, smiling at her proudly. She heads over as Lavellan manages to sit up.

She crouches down next to her, smile still on her face. "That was not the spell I taught you, Fen'da'len. But I'm impressed that you thought of it. It will make his recovery easier. He'll wake soon, and when that happens, we leave. I suggest you pack up quickly; it won't be long."

Lavellan nods, climbing out of her covers and turning to begin gathering her bedroll. Dorian and Cole follow her lead, and together they have their little makeshift camp packed up in a few minutes. She moves to sit next to Tylaise, grasping his hand and holding it in comfort, even if he can't feel it. She begins to channel her mana into him, but Fen'harel holds his hand up to stop her, shaking his head.

"No, don't. You'll need your mana."

She snorts. "And you won't?"

He smirks, tilting his head as if conceding her point. "Yes, but I can recover mine faster than you can, especially here. Worry not, my love."

She nods, accepting it. He knows better than her what his capabilities are, after all. She stops channeling, though she keeps her hold on her original twin's hand, testing his aura gently with her own. He is recovering, more quickly than she would've thought. Before she can blink one more time, his eyes flutter for a moment, then open slowly. He winces and closes them against the light from Fen'harel's healing spell, a tear escaping his eye as his irises adjust. She smiles and wipes it from his cheek with her free hand, and he leans into the contact, as he always has. She smiles lovingly at him, and when he opens his eyes again, he smiles back sleepily.

"Welcome back, _da'hale_ ," she says.

"Mm," he responds, still not quite waking.

She chuckles. Her brother has never been an early riser. With as drained as he is, she's a little surprised he's coherent enough to recognize her at all. Fen'harel smiles at her, apparently as amused by her brother's reaction as she is. He ceases his casting and gives her a nod, which she returns, turning her attention fully to her brother.

" _Da'hale_ , you have to get up now. We need to go."

He nods and sluggishly opens his eyes, looking about at the faces surrounding him. He blearily blinks several times to clear the Fade from his mind. He seems to realize they are not in a normal location, and his brow creases.

"Are we... still in the Fade?" he asks, sleep clearly still clinging to his tongue.

She huffs a laugh and shakes her head. "No, _da'hale_. We're in a place called the Crossroads. This is where all the _el'u'vi'an's_ in our world lead to. Don't try to cast, especially not yet. Magic doesn't work the same here."

He looks around with a confused expression, which suddenly clears as he snorts a quick laugh. "This? This is what the Fade usually looks like to me. Except... less mirrors. And weird trees."

She chuckles and grins at him. "Well it's not the Fade." She stands, still holding his hand, tugging gently. "Come on, get up. We've got to use the _el'u'vi'an_ you're leaning on, there." She points at it with her free hand.

He looks up and back at it, his eyes widening at the sight as he scrambles up as fast as he can in his weakened state. "Gods, it's not cursed, is it?"

Mythal barks a laugh. "No, it's not. I would never allow corruption to take the mirror to my last intact temple."

Lavellan pauses as she processes that statement. Before the voices of the well can answer her, she looks at Mythal and blurts out, "The temple with the Vir'abelasan?"

Mythal nods. "The very one. Why do you seem so horrified by that thought? You've been there before, after all."

Lavellan quickly schools her features and shakes her head slightly. "Not horrified, so much, just... I never expected to see it not torn apart by war." She chuckles as a thought occurs to her. "Is Abelas going to start yelling about _shemlen_ invaders again?"

Mythal laughs. "I highly doubt it, girl; not with me present. Besides, the only _shemlen_ here are your friend and brother." Mythal smiles, a twinkle in her eye. "Though, I have a feeling you'll do something about that last bit soon."

Lavellan shrugs, looking to her brother. "That's up to him, and I don't know how to do that, even if he decides he wants it."

Tylaise sighs. "I told you, I'll think about it, _da'fen_. There's... a lot to consider."

Mythal looks to Lavellan as she speaks, "I can teach it to you, don't worry." She looks to Tylaise. "What is there to consider, boy? You would rather let your twin watch you age and die? That is a cruel fate for a twin, no matter which side you look at it from."

"I-" Tylaise huffs, frustration clear on his face. "We are not the only ones I must consider. If I do that, I'll be standing by to watch my entire clan grow old and die. I don't know if I can do that."

Mythal nods. "Then you must decide whether they are your family," she points to Lavellan, "or she is. Your decision. In any case, we must go."

Without further preamble, she turns the hand she'd pointed at Lavellan towards the el'u'vi'an, and activates it. She walks through it and disappears behind the warped, shimmering ripples of its surface.

Lavellan looks around at her companions with a tight smile, and steps through, her gut twisting in knots. A moment, and she's through, looking at the well of sorrows as she's never seen it. Mythal is standing to the side with her hand held out over it. A soft glow suffuses the water with subtle magics, making the water come alive to lap at the edges of the pool gently. She steps to the side of the _el'u'vi'an_ to make room for Fen'harel as he comes through, followed by Dorian, her brother, and Cole. Fen'harel turns and deactivates the mirror with the wave of his hand.

Mythal waves Tylaise over to her. "Come, child; even if you won't accept the gift your sister offers, you can have this one. You will need it, if you wish to understand what happens."

Tylaise frowns in confusion, but complies, moving toward Mythal with steps slowed by his gaping at what he can see of the temple by the moonlight. When he arrives, Mythal holds her hand up and speaks.

"Stay still, and open your mind. It will do you no good to fight the spell." She waits until he nods, then places one hand over his face, the other over his ear.

Lavellan realizes then what Mythal is giving him, and smiles, switching to elvish automatically as she feels Mythal cast. "Thank you for that, All-Mother."

Mythal nods to her as she finishes and lowers her hands, speaking in elvish in turn, "You're welcome, wolf cub, though I didn't do it for you. He should be able to speak his own language properly, and teach it to others. Even if he remains mortal for now, his clan will appreciate the chance to know more, I'm certain."

Tylaise interrupts before Lavellan can respond. "What are you- you're speaking elvish? How can I..." he trails off, realizing he'd spoken in elvish as well, turning to his sister with excited shock written on his face.

She grins at him. "Welcome to understanding, little fox."

Suddenly, a violent swirling of ancient magic erupts around the edges of the well. The sentinels appear through the mist, weapons drawn. Abelas is the closest to Lavellan, and his golden eyes bore into her with all the force of the sun.

"Who dares defile the Well of Sorrows with their foul presence?!" he demands, magic coiled tightly around his body, his rage clear upon his face.

"Calm yourself, Abelas!" Mythal intervenes, likely just in time, judging by the tightening grip of Abelas' hands on his massive crystalline hammer.

Nearly as one, the sentinels turn and kneel, bowing their heads to Mythal.

Abelas is the first to speak, "Mythal! Are these _shemlen_ with you?" At her nod, he continues, "Then I am sorry for our haste. Do you require our services, All-Mother?"

Mythal nods again. "It would be helpful if some of you would assist me in preparing for a raising ritual. Fen'harel and I will need your support for it to work."

Abelas seems quite surprised at her request. "A raising ritual?" He looks over at Lavellan's group. Scrutiny is written on his face, eyes passing over each of them aside from Fen'harel, before he turns back to Mythal. "Which among them could possibly be worthy of such a thing? One of them is a spirit, you can't possibly mean it?"

She chuckles and shakes her head, looking upon her sentinel's leader with a fond smile. "No, Abelas. Are you certain you sense none among them who is worthy? Search carefully."

He looks back to them, and Lavellan can feel his mana lapping out at them, strong and insistent, like the rolling waves of the ocean's tide. First over Dorian, then her brother, and at long last, herself. His magic lingers on her for a moment, and she flares hers out to meet it in challenge. The surprise he feels is palpable as he withdraws and turns back to Mythal, shock marking his features.

"Her?!" He points to Lavellan.

Mythal nods. "Yes, her." She tilts her head curiously. "Do you find fault with my decision?"

He lowers his head, averting his gaze. "Of course not, All-Mother. Your will is our command."

She smiles. "Glad to hear it. Help us prepare; we've much to do, and little time to do it."

The sentinels rise and move to form a circle around Mythal. Lavellan can feel it the moment it begins. Power, the likes of which she's never felt, pours from all of them and into Mythal. Her body goes stiff, head thrown back as her golden eyes alight with the surge of magic pouring into her. By the time she collapses to one knee with an arm braced against the ground to keep her up, even her skin is giving off a faint light.

She takes a few breaths and nods, swallowing. "Good. Now Fen'harel," she murmurs, and again the sentinels move to form a circle around Fen'harel.

A few seconds later, he too, is on his knees and glowing softly.

Cole seems utterly fascinated. "Old, old, so old, feels so good to feel it again. It won't last, but oh, it's so good. She must know, she must see, it must be now."

The sentinels retreat and stand watch.

Tylaise reaches for, and grips her hand in his. Dorian takes the other, looking at her worriedly. "Are you sure?" he asks her, quietly.

She nods, squeezing both of their hands. She has no choice, and even if she did, she wants to help. She lets go of her solid rocks in the storm, and lets herself go with the tide. She walks toward the two gods, letting herself be swept away in the storm of power pouring from them. They come to either side of her and lay their hands on her shoulders.

For a few blissful moments, she is back in the dream of Elvhenan. Magic is flowing into and through her, sweeping her aside and gathering her up all at once. Her body arches, making her gaze fix upon the moon. She sees it glow like she's never thought possible, seeming to envelop her entire being within its light. Her mind is overcome with joy, wishing she could feel like this forever. Then suddenly, it all fades to black.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> By the by, if any of you are interested, here's my info:  
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> I'm on Skype 24/7, unless I'm asleep, or not at home.
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> Thanks for reading! If you enjoy the story, or this chapter in particular, please feel free to leave a review with your thoughts! I love reading comments, and reply to all of them. <3


	22. Chapter 22

"Oh great, this again."

Lavellan sighs, looking around at blackness, floating yet again.

Because that makes perfect sense.

She groans and turns about, looking for anything that can lead her out of here.

Hoping for a light, she looks up. Nope, nothing.

What _is_ this place? And _why_ is she here, yet again?

This is not her normal experience of being knocked out; far from it. She remembers dreaming when she's knocked out.

This isn't the Fade, and it's not the void, so where the fuck is she?

She huffs and waits, wondering how long it will take her to get out this time.

About the time she considers trying to force her way up to the light she keeps looking above her for, she hears a voice.

"I wouldn't advise that."

She spins, looking for the source, and finds nothing. "Who's there?"

The voice chuckles. "About time you finally heard me. I tried to talk to you last time, but I couldn't get through."

Oh, yes, great, she's hearing voices now. In a void. Because that's perfectly sane.

She snorts. "Well that's just wonderful for you. You still didn't answer my question. And where are you? I can't see you."

The voice chuckles again, a sound that does nothing for her supposed sanity. "I'm right in front of you. If you can't see me, that might be because your eyes aren't open."

"What?" She looks around. Her eyes are definitely open. At least, they _feel_ open...

"Your eyes are closed," the voice repeats. "It's a little comical, really."

Lavellan rolls her eyes. Her definitely _open_ eyes... right? "Oh ha-ha, laugh it up, strange, random voice in my head. Very funny. If my eyes are so closed, then why can I see my hand?" She waves it in front of her face, seeing it quite clearly.

"Because you are seeing the spirit of your body. That's.. not something you can exactly lose track of, eyes closed or open, friend," the voice responds, with a hint of condescension.

"I don't care much for your tone, whoever you are."

"Well I don't care for not being seen, but you're the only one who can do something about that."

She growls at the voice. Fine, if the voice thinks her eyes are so closed, she'll make a concerted effort to open them, just to prove it wrong. "Alright, I'll play along, oh insistent voice. I'll 'open'" she air quotes the word, "my eyes."

"Glad to hear it!" The now amused voice replies.

She snorts and shakes her head, then closes her eyes, opening them again.

She subsequently forgets to blink again for quite some time.

* * * * *

"Welcome, little wolf, to the war."

He sweeps his arms out at their surroundings, stepping aside to let her see the full vista of Arlathan in utter ruin. He smiles grimly as he watches her expression go from complete wonder to utter horror, then melt into stunned shock. The little wolf moves to the edge of the balcony they're standing on, fingers reaching for the railing and gripping tightly as she looks out over the chaos.

He moves to her side, nodding his understanding. "Yes, it's quite a sight, isn't it?"

She seems unable to answer, instead opting to continue staring at a city covered in gore and putrid, black corruption.

To think, this is actually a section of the city that has been cleared of darkspawn, and is already slowly recovering from the taint. This is far better off than other sections. The streets here can be walked without fear of anything but the smell. Yet still, she stares in disbelief, as if her entire world has just been turned on its head.

"Sister." And my, did it feel strangely good to say that word after centuries of never being able to speak it. "Are you alright?"

This is the thing that finally seems to shake her from her shock. She looks at him slowly, as if he's suddenly grown an extra limb.

"S... sister?" she manages.

He folds his arms over his chest and nods. "Well, yes. You are one of us, now. Mother and Fen'harel just raised you, did they not? It explains why you can finally see, after all."

Her knees buckle under her, and she collapses in a heap. Her hands bracing her against the floor are the only thing keeping her vertical. "I- no, this..." She shakes her head weakly as she trails off.

He kneels before her and lays a comforting, supporting hand on her shoulder. "I know it's a lot to take in, sister, but we welcome you all the same. When you're ready, I'll teach you what you need to know to help us fight. Mother and Fen'harel are returning your body, your friends, and your twin to _Tarasyl'an Te'las_ as we speak. They'll be joining us soon."

She finally looks up, weakly meeting his eyes. "Who... are you?"

He chuckles. "I'm the handsome twin," he jests, then shakes his head gently, looking at her with a soft smile. "I am Falon'din."

Her eyes widen, then dart over him frantically, as if she is taking his form in for the first time.

He knows he looks horrid. Constant war doesn't tend to leave time for niceties like vanity. His long black hair is bound up in a hastily tied leather strip. His once beautiful robes are ragged and stained black with blighted blood. He's long since given up wearing any adornments like jewelry; after all, who's around to look pretty for? The darkspawn? His twin is in a similar state, he knows, as are the rest of the pantheon. Mythal and Fen'harel's physical forms are just that- physical. Here, they are just as ragged as he.

"Y- you're the shepherd of the dead?"

He smiles, nodding once. "Yes. Not what you were expecting, I'll wager. From the Dalish tales Mother tells me, I'm supposed to be some big, bad, nefarious character that steals the souls of every mortal and runs off with them into the void." He chuckles, shaking his head at that bit of ridiculousness. "As you can see, those tales are wildly exaggerated versions of who I am."

She moves to sit properly, looking off to the side into the room the balcony abuts for a moment, then back to him. "Falon'din? And.. sister? That's... this is Arlathan. We're in... and I'm..." She trails off again, squeezing her eyes shut tight, bringing her hands up to rub into them.

He sits as well, smiling kindly as he waits for her to wrap her head around it all. He doesn't have much time, but the others have taken up his slack for exactly this, for a little while.

Suddenly, she looks up at him. "Where is Dirthamen? And Elgar'nan? June?"

He smirks. "They're protecting this section of the city, as I should be doing. Just as you will soon be doing, every night as you sleep."

She frowns, perplexed. "But I go to the Fade when I sleep. This... I don't even know what this is. How did I get here?"

"You're in eternal sleep, sister. You've been here before, several times, in fact. You just never opened your eyes before. I thought for sure you would, the last time I felt your presence here, but your connection wasn't strong enough then. It is as strong as mine is, now."

"But you're locked in here physically, aren't you?" she asks, obviously trying to understand all of this.

He shakes his head. "No. Physically we are all in a safe place, with sentinels guarding us. We each wake once a day now, to make sure all is still as it should be. After we lost Sylaise and Ghilan'nain, we realized we could ill afford to rely solely on our sentinels, much as the realization pained us and them both. We're fighting a war on two fronts, now. We can't do much about the world outside of here yet, but we will once the war is won here. Mother and Fen'harel have been needed more in the other world in recent years, but they still come here nightly to help. I hope you will do the same."

Nodding slightly, she seems unsure of herself, and still very much in shock. "That was kind of the point in raising me. Well, part of it, anyway. That, and me going crazy." She snorts, shaking her head. "So, how long do I have to learn?"

He grins at her. Still in shock, and she's already trying to get down to business. The _shems_ have chosen their leader well. "Come back here for an hour each night and learn. I, or one of the others will meet you, and teach what you must know. I don't know what you're capable of yet, and we won't know until you're trained. We've also got to find out what your gift is, and soon, so you can be properly named."

"Gift? Name? What?" she fires off the questions in rapid succession.

He chuckles softly. "Your gift is your special ability, what you will be known for, what you will be goddess of. Your name will reflect that gift, and your actions. I am the friend of the dead. My twin is the keeper of secrets. Our names reflect what we do, and what we are, as will yours. Just as you chose a new name when you came of age, you will have a new one as a member of our family."

A sigh passes through her lips. "Fine, I get it." She draws her knees up and hugs her legs, resting her chin on her knees with a huff. "So how do we find out what my gift is?"

He smirks. "It will likely be something like Fen'harel's. We've been watching you in the Fade, sister. You shine like a beacon among a sea of dim candles, as does your brother and the other few dreamers remaining. When you wake, call forth the wolf that you use while dreaming. I suspect it will answer quite readily. Once the veil is gone, you'll likely be just as able to shape reality as Fen'harel is, being a dreamer as he is. Aside from that, I cannot say what your particular gift might be. His is manipulating the dreams, emotions, and memories of others. We shall see where your talents lie, in time."

She shakes her head, chuckling softly and looking out over Arlathan. "I never wanted any of this, you know. The power, the responsibility, none of it. It's been placed on my shoulders at every turn, but I never asked for it. The irony that I'm... Falon'din's _sister_ now, of all things- it's just painfully ridiculous."

He huffs a laugh and nods sympathetically. "We know and understand that, better than you imagine, sister. We were raised to our stations, just as you have been. We didn't ask for it, it was offered, deals made in exchange for it. I, for one, am glad that you are not hungry for it. It means you are perfect for the job."

Snorting, she rolls her eyes. "Yes, I've heard the same thing from my advisors about being the Inquisitor. It seems to be a universal concept."

He smiles kindly. "It's a universal _truth_ , sister. Those that do not wish power are the perfect ones to have power." He stands and offers her his hand. "Come, I will relieve my twin and let him meet you. Then you can meet father and June. We can't stay there long, but your time here is coming to an end for the night anyway, so we may as well get introductions out of the way."

She takes his hand hesitantly, and he hoists her up. He drops her hand after she's steady on her feet, in favor of resting his on her shoulder comfortingly. "Don't worry, sister. They'll be glad to finally meet you. Fen'harel's been telling them so much about you, they're sick of it, and more than eager to actually meet the one he speaks of."

He watches the blush rise on her cheeks. "He talks about me? Well, that's... sweet."

He chuckles, nodding as he leads the way into the room and down the stairs to the ground floor. "It's something like that. He doesn't shut up about you. Maybe now that you'll be around, he can talk less and fight more."

By the time he's finished teasing her, they are standing in the street, watching ancient magics fight against the taint corrupting the architecture around them. He looks at her as she takes it all in, shaking her head.

"He told me about the taint affecting Arlathan, but I didn't think it would be like this. This is... it's more than just the darkspawn, isn't it? It's corrupting the buildings too."

He nods. "It infects everything around it. Because of the magic here, it thrives. It feasts on the very magics that created Arlathan. We've had to invent new magics to fight its influence. Where we're headed is worse than this by far."

He hears a sad sigh from her. "Well, let's get to it, then."

He leads her quickly through the winding streets and alleyways to where his kin are fighting. Soon enough, they reach the battlefront, and he dives in, tapping his twin out. Dirthamen grins and retreats behind the lines, and Falon'din turns to face their enemy, summoning daggers to his hands with a feral grin.

* * * * *

An elf that looks almost exactly like the one that just left her side, if a bit more flushed, runs up to her, a grin splitting his face.

"I hear you're our new sister!" he calls as he runs toward her, and immediately hugs her the moment he reaches her. After a moment, she realizes she should probably return the embrace. She does so weakly, mind still tumbling into a free fall at the fact that the keeper of secrets is _hugging_ her.

A few seconds later and he backs up to look down at her, hands holding her shoulders still. "You're taller than he said. Excellent! You look fit for battle, that'll be handy. Can you cast without a staff, or do you need one? We have one around here somewhere..." he trails off, looking around distractedly.

"I- what? No, wait, I was brought here for introductions. Falon'din said I was to be trained before I joined the fight."

He focuses back on her at that, features slightly disappointed. "Oh! Well, that's good too, though you look plenty ready. Greetings, I'm Dirthamen."

Lavellan nods, a chuckle escaping her. "I gathered that by you looking exactly the same as your brother. Good to meet you."

He beams a grin at her. "Good to meet you too. And we do have one difference. I'm prettier."

She snorts. "He said the same thing."

Dirthamen sighs dramatically, rolling his eyes. "He's been saying that forever. Literally. I'm still prettier. Also I braid my hair, here."

He grins and turns to point at a black-haired elvhen, who's currently twisting the head off an ogre. Raw, wiry strength radiates from the elvhen's form, tightly controlled power obvious in his every movement. "That's father."

Dirthamen points to another elvhen who looks stronger and taller than any elf she's ever met, auburn hair bound tightly in a braid that trails the length of his spine. Some sort of lethal-looking items she doesn't recognize twirl in the air around him, then suddenly spill forth to slice a hurlock alpha to bits. The hurlock falls, pieces of it sliding to the ground in a wet heap. Effective. "That's June." He chuckles and adds, "and June's toys."

Lavellan nods, sufficiently impressed. "Good to know. Will I get to meet either of them?"

Dirthamen smiles and darts off without a word, towards Elgar'nan. He's sitting on the back of the ogre he's felled, looking around as if he could rip off another thousand heads right then and there... which he probably could, now that she thinks of it. He looks up sharply as his son approaches, but his expression softens when he realizes it's not an enemy. Dirthamen turns and points back to her, talking to Elgar'nan, whose features light up in surprise as he looks in the direction his son is pointing. A soft smile graces his face as he stands from the ogre's back and starts toward her, nodding at his son, who takes his place in the line.

His smile grows as he gets closer, nodding when he stands before her. "More beautiful than Fen'harel said you were, as I suspected. Welcome to the family, daughter."

She blushes and smiles crookedly at his praise. "Thank you, All-Father."

He scoffs. "No, no, you are my daughter now, titles are nothing. You call me father or Elgar'nan, nothing else. I will call you daughter until your name is decided."

She dips her head, conceding his demands. She dare not deny them, after all. "As you wish, Elgar'nan."

He sighs, hooking his fingers under her chin and pulling her head up gently to look at him. "You're not a subject, daughter mine. You bow to no one now." He grimaces slightly and adds with a good-natured chuckle, "well, except your mother, I suppose. She does get rather demanding sometimes."

She smiles and nods, trying again as he drops his fingers. "Alright then. Greetings... father."

He grins, which is a sight to behold. The sun god must've been called so for his smile. "It's been a long time since I heard that word from a woman. It's good to hear, I've missed it."

Elgar'nan looks behind him to see June approaching from a clear battlefield. He steps aside and sweeps his hand between them in introduction. "June, come meet your sister."

Up close, June is an imposing figure, and she has to crane her neck a bit to look into his green eyes as he nears her. "Well met, June."

June chuckles and nods, his mana flowing over her in what she recognizes as an embrace. "You as well, sister. It is good to finally meet the woman my brother won't shut up about, for longer than it takes him to rip an enemy's throat out. You look and feel ready for fighting. Good. Your training will be quick. Do you require a weapon? If so, I can craft you one."

She grins, liking him already. He's got a deep, gentle voice that speaks to her of comfort and safety. "I can use a staff, and a bow to a point, but require neither. The staff would be more for blocking and stabbing than anything else."

He nods approvingly. "Good. I will make you a staff that works best for that purpose, then. I assume mother and Fen'harel are going to help you craft a foci?"

"Yes; that's what I was told, anyhow," she confirms.

She's feeling the pull of her body more strongly than she can truly resist now, so she gives them both an apologetic smile. "I'm sorry, but I think I have to wake up now. I'm glad to have met everyone, though. I'll be back as soon as I can."

Elgar'nan and June both nod, giving her a smile before she closes her eyes, and wakes.

Sitting up slowly and looking around, she blinks her eyes a few times before realizing she's in her room.

"Ah, good, you're awake. How do you feel?" She looks towards the source of the voice to find Mythal sitting by her bedside, along with Fen'harel at the foot of her bed, smiling worriedly at her. They look like they've spent the night conversing at her bedside.

Pulling herself into a sitting position, she looks at them with a sleepy smile. "Morning mother; my wolf."

Mythal laughs heartily. "'Mother' is it, now? I take it you met the rest of the family, then. How did you like them?"

Lavellan snorts and rubs at a kink in her neck. "Well, I'm.. overwhelmed by it all still, but... let's see. I met Falon'din first, and wasn't that a surprise? I thought for a minute that I'd died, though I didn't say it. Then he explained what I was looking at, and after I worked through that shocker, I concentrated on him. He's friendlier than I imagined he'd be. Then we went to the battlefront and he ran off. Dirthamen just... well, he hugged me, then introduced himself. Is that normal?"

Both Mythal and Fen'harel laugh at that.

Mythal answers her, "Yes, that is quite normal. Dirthamen has always been the more affectionate of the two. It's one of the only ways to tell them apart. Falon'din touches with his hands, Dirthamen with his whole body."

Lavellan chuckles. "That seems... accurate. Anyway, Dirthamen relieved Elgar'nan next. I got berated for calling him by a title, and ended up calling him father. Then June came up and mana-hugged me, then offered to make me a staff, deciding to do it whether I needed it or not." She chuckles, shaking her head at that. "Then I said goodbye and woke up."

Mythal grins. "Well good, I'm glad you all got along. Now again, how do you feel, besides overwhelmed?"

Lavellan looks down at her hands, considering how to answer. She shrugs. "No different, really. I mean I haven't tried casting yet, so that might change, but for now, I feel fine."

Fen'harel nods. "Good. That is how you should feel, at first, at least."

Lavellan raises a quizzical eyebrow at him. "At first?"

Mythal intervenes. "The power you've gained will express itself over time, daughter. I don't recommend you cast until we've made you a foci. Your magic will be wildly unpredictable until you have something to focus it with, even with the veil in place. We can start work on it now, if you wish."

Lavellan nods eagerly. "Yes, let's. Falon'din told me something I should try when I wake... I confess, I'm rather excited to try it."

Fen'harel tilts his head curiously. "What did he tell you to try?"

She grins, excitement brightening her eyes. "You know my Fade wolf?" At his nod, she continues, "He told me to try calling it forth here, in this reality. He said he thought it might just answer."

Mythal chuckles. "You could just as easily call forth a dragon, daughter. You may wish to retreat to a less confined space before trying it. But I'll be happy to teach you how to call your true form, if you wish."

Lavellan's eyes widen and she grins, reaching toward Mythal, but grasping her bed cover instead, to refrain from making the contact she's not quite sure is acceptable yet. "Yes! Please!"

Mythal laughs and places her hand over Lavellan's, patting it gently. "Then I shall, but later. For now, we need a sturdy object that is precious to you. Do you have such a thing?"

Lavellan considers for a moment, then reaches for the chain around her neck, fetching out the ring that hangs on it from under her night shirt. The ring is blackened with age, and though it is well-worn, the image of a wolf's head can be made out of the engraved outer surface. "There's this. It's... well, it was my mother's. It's her sylvanwood ring. Will that work?"

Mythal sheds her gauntlets and holds out her hand for it. Lavellan slips the chain over her head and unlatches it, sliding it free of the ring, before handing the ring to Mythal. Mythal takes it between her fingers and cocks her head curiously, studying it. She pours her mana over it gently, searching. The enchantments on it flare to life, singing with strong, old magic.

Mythal smiles. "Clever enchantments. This is a very old ring, and has seen many owners. Do you know of its origins?"

Lavellan shakes her head. "No, only that it's been passed down to the females in each generation, on my birth mother's side of the family."

Mythal nods, her smile knowing, and she holds the ring out to Fen'harel. As he takes it, something within the ring flares, and he nearly drops it in surprise, which turns into staring wonderment as he looks at the little object.

"This is-" He looks at Mythal, eyes wide.

She nods. "It is."

His gaze flicks to Lavellan. "I never thought to see it again."

She looks back at him blankly, lost. "It's just my mother's ring," she offers, hesitantly.

He shakes his head and holds the ring between his thumb and forefinger, looking through its open center at her. "This is the same ring I gave the high priestess of my temple, long before the Fall." He smiles fondly at the ring, lowering it and letting it slide onto his palm. "I'm glad to know she escaped, and lived long enough to pass it on. If the line has remained true, you and your brother are her descendants. This... explains much."

Lavellan sits there, stunned for several long moments. Eventually, she manages (With a squeak she will never admit to when re-telling the story.), "Explains what?"

He smiles at her softly. "Many things. Your devotion to me as a child and young woman. That you were able to serve as my vessel at all. Your ability to dream with the clarity that I do. The way you wield my mark as if you were born with it. The fact that I'm drawn to you like a force of nature. How well you've accepted your roles, all of them. It makes perfect sense, now."

He lifts the ring, gaze flitting to it, then back to her. "This ring was carved from the same branch as my foci. If you wish to make it your foci, I can think of no finer object."

He hands the ring back to Mythal, smiling as if remembering a fond memory.

Mythal smirks and folds her hand over the ring in her other palm, closing her eyes and casting a spell Lavellan can't begin to name. As the spell fades, she gives the ring back to Fen'harel, and he casts the same spell over it. Finished, he holds it out to Lavellan, but as she reaches out to take it, Mythal reaches for it as well. Lavellan looks at her in question.

"Put your hand under it, and channel your mana into it. We'll take care of the rest," Mythal instructs her.

Frowning in confusion, she complies, scooting closer on the bed and resting her hand under the ring. Mythal and Fen'harel both take it between their fingers and press it to her palm, then begin casting. Lavellan senses the spell transferring to her through the ring, pulling from her essence, giving and taking, emptying and filling her all at once... it reminds her of the foci at the heart of _Tarasyl'an Te'las_. She concentrates on the feeling and lets it tug and give as it will, until it balances out; as if a half of her soul has been emptied into the ring, yet still remains fully within her.

Lavellan realizes when she sees the light fade from before her eyelids that she'd closed her eyes, and opens them to see her mother and mate sitting back once more, watching her with smiles on their faces. Looking down to her foci, she can't help but smile as well. This is the first time she's actually wanted to wear the ring on her finger, instead of on the chain 'round her neck. She slides it onto the ring finger of her right hand, lifting the hand to look at it. The ring glows softly, and she feels it tighten gently, enough to make a snug fit. Nodding her approval, she lets her hand fall to her lap, then looks up at the two deities before her with an eager smile.

"So, can I cast now?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> By the by, if any of you are interested, here's my info:  
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> Thanks for reading! If you enjoy the story, or this chapter in particular, please feel free to leave a review with your thoughts! I love reading comments, and reply to all of them. <3


	23. Chapter 23

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys! Sorry for the long wait! Hopefully you've been over reading Faded Reality, instead of pining away at this fic... right? _Right???_ I hope so. ❤️  
>  Anyway, since you're here, I want to mention that there's a new forum that's up, made for anybody who wants to discuss any of my stories! Look to the end of the chapter, for the contact info spiel, and you'll see the forum link! ❤️  
> ❤️❤️❤️ Love you guys!! ❤️❤️❤️

"So you call my sister little wolf," Tylaise says in greeting, as he rounds into Dorian's alcove in the library.

Dorian's eyebrow flicks up, along with his gaze, as he tears it away from the latest of Varric's books that Cassandra has lent him. "I do," he says with a nod, pausing cautiously. He feels a bit like a snake being cornered by a fox. He watches Tylaise lean against the side of one of the bookcases, looking at him with arms folded, head tilted, his eyes scrutinizing Dorian keenly. "Is there a problem with that? Solas called her that, long before I did."

"Oh no, not at all," comes Tylaise's too-quick denial, his eyes still sharp. "It just seems... overly-familiar. My sister is not often so prone to trusting humans; certainly not this quickly."

Dorian sighs, sliding a strip of leather between the pages of the book to mark his spot, as he closes it and sets it aside, devoting his attention to the elf in front of him. "As I understand it, there's nothing hasty at all about your sister's attachment to me."

Tylaise scoffs, rolling his eyes marginally before focusing on Dorian once more. "Yes, yes, time magic. As if that makes it all acceptable and understandable suddenly." Tylaise shakes his head and unfolds his arms, leveling his gaze at Dorian with a slight jerk of his chin at him. "Alright, let's say what she claims is true. After what we witnessed at the temple, I'm open to anything being possible. How do _you_ feel about her?"

Dorian's answer is immediate; his gaze unwavering, mind and heart more certain and confident than they have ever been, "I trust her, and see her as the sister I never had. She is also an excellent leader, and our greatest hope. And, if what Solas claims is true, she is now something more than we could have ever imagined. So, if you're asking whether our relationship, or our esteem for each other is equal, I have to say it is. She is remarkable, in many ways, and I am more than proud to call her friend."

Tylaise deliberates for a few moments, while Dorian sits back and waits patiently.

Finally, the elf shrugs. "Alright."

Dorian quirks his head in surprised confusion. "'Alright'? Just like that, you're perfectly fine with it all?"

Tylaise smirks. "If you'd grown up with my sister, you'd know that actually keeping pace with her is an impossible task. If you don't learn to occasionally let her go off on her own, you'll never catch your breath."

"So, you're letting her go off on her own?" Dorian asks.

Tylaise scoffs and chuckles, shaking his head, tendrils of auburn hair falling out from behind his ears to brush along his high cheekbones; a sight Dorian finds more distracting than he feels he should. "No, this is me staying close enough to make sure she doesn't fall head-first into the ocean, while still giving her space to jump about in a few dozen puddles. At least, until I'm certain she can swim."

Dorian snorts softly, his eyebrows shrugging. "That's as apt an analogy as any, I suppose."

Tylaise stands quietly for a long moment, teeth worrying his bottom lip distractingly. Eventually, he sighs. "I don't trust... Solas not to lead her astray. Gods know she's loved him all her life, but this is the real deal. She's all but ordered me to give him a chance, but it's a lot to swallow; almost too much." He narrows his eyes at Dorian. "If she were your twin, and you'd come to find she'd been hiding an affair with one of your people's old gods, how would you feel?"

Dorian takes a breath and lets it out slowly, twining his fingers together before him as he considers Tylaise's hypothetical question. It's a valid point, and Fen'harel is certainly not without a great many faults. But there are positives, too—even if he's loathe to admit to them—the happiness of Fen'da'len as a direct result of the relationship, chief among them. He might not be the best at relationships himself... but he can recognize as well as anyone when two people are as good for each other as those two are. Yet, Fen'harel has burned her once already. It is difficult to know what to think of the situation. There is no easy answer here.

"It's impossible for me to be as objective as you wish. I've seen them grow together. I've been her confidant from the beginning; the only person in the Inquisition that she trusted with the truth. I don't trust Solas with this, either. But I've seen the love he has for her, and it is not false. You can't fake that kind of devotion, even with blood magic. He absolutely loves her as much as he claims he does, if not more. I may not trust him, but he's not lying about that much. Whether that will change as time goes on, or stay constant, I can't say." He shrugs, a conflicted sigh passing through his lips. "I share your concerns, believe me; but I've yet to see evidence that their love for each other is anything but genuine." He shakes his head, then looks at Tylaise with a small smile. "Whatever happens, I am on her side."

Tylaise's lips curl in a tight smirk. He slowly bows, then lifts his head, gracing Dorian with a small smile. "Then we are on the same side, you and I. Let's hope we don't end up having to pick up the pieces, when this explodes in her face."

Dorian snorts. "Haven't you heard? It already did. She's just had the incredible luck to come back and experience it all over again."

Tylaise huffs a laugh. "Should we count that as good luck, or bad?"

Dorian shakes his head, eyebrows raised. "I haven't the faintest idea. From what I saw in the Fade, when she showed you what happened... she does seem happier this time. I can't help but count that as an improvement."

Tylaise smiles softly, nodding in agreement. "I might not like who she's with, but I have to cede your point. This is the happiest I've ever seen her, despite the state the world's in. It's amazing, really. Perhaps it is good luck, then. Let's hope it holds."

* * * * *

" _So, can I cast now?"_

Mythal and Fen'harel look at each other, smirks on their faces. Mythal turns back to Lavellan and nods once, but holds her hand up before Lavellan can do anything.

"You may want to get dressed. If we're going to be teaching you to summon your true form, we'll need privacy, and space."

Lavellan grins, unbound hair falling softly over her shoulder as she tilts her head. "I've got just the place in mind, and I only have to dress for it if I really want to."

Fen'harel's brow creases in confusion. "What place do you mean, little wolf?"

"The heart, of course. Plenty of room, absolute privacy, and we can get there without being seen."

Mythal and Fen'harel share a look once more, this one curious, then accepting.

Fen'harel turns back to Lavellan with a small smile, nodding his acquiescence. "That is an excellent suggestion. You'll also be able to draw power from the keystones more easily there, should you need it for a first attempt."

"Agreed." Mythal smiles brightly. "Let's go, then. Though, I do suggest you at least freshen up a bit before we go," she adds with a smirk.

Lavellan grimaces, hand going to her crown of hair. "I have bed head, don't I?"

Mythal chuckles, nodding. Fen'harel smiles lovingly, sparkles of amusement dancing in his eyes.

Lavellan rolls her eyes and tumbles out of bed, heading for her bath. She finds it already filled, though the water's gone cold. Eying it for a moment, she ponders, knowing her affinity is for storm and Fade magic, not fire. But she's seen Dorian light fire runes under his bedroll often enough, it shouldn't be too hard, right? If she's a goddess now, she should be able to heat her own bath, after all. Deciding to forgo a complex rune for now, she begins to cast her heat spell instead, channeling it into the water as she swirls her hand through it. Normally, this works fairly well... after a while, anyway. Now-

Lavellan gasps and snatches her hand back, the skin painfully red and already beginning to blister. She looks in wonder down at the water that's actually bubbling softly with heat.

"Fen'harel?"

"Yes?"

"Can you come here for a moment?"

He's at her side before she can blink, already reaching for her hand with glowing fingers.

"It seems your magic has grown in strength already," he says with mild amusement, glancing down to the still-bubbling bath with a raised eyebrow. He looks back up to her expectantly. "My love, you can stop casting." He gestures to the water with a chuckle. "The bath's going to boil over if you keep going."

Lavellan blinks, twice. She hadn't realized she was still casting. Mentally shaking herself, she makes a concerted effort to cease the flow of mana. As the torrent dies down, she gapes a bit at what she's done, then back up to him. "I didn't- I wasn't... how?"

He grins at her and lifts his hand to cup her jaw, stroking his thumb along the apple of her cheek. "You are newly reborn, my heart. It will take time for you to understand and adjust to the powers you now possess."

Lavellan snorts in annoyance. "Powers like casting without even realizing it?"

Fen'harel chuckles and embraces her, dropping her hand gently in favor of threading his fingers through her locks. "You will learn soon, my joy," he murmurs to her. "Worry not, we will help you."

Lavellan sighs softly and nods, separating from him with a tight smile and crossing her arms as she looks at the bath. "Well, now I have to wait. Don't want to boil my skin off, after all."

He smirks and spreads his fingers over the water, frost seeping from them in thin tendrils to mix with the heated water, stilling it. "There. That should be comfortable."

Dipping her now healed hand into it, she finds it warm, but not hot. Nodding her appreciation at him, she sheds her night gown, laying it across the back of the chair next to the bath. She steps in and sinks her body slowly into the water, letting it envelop her in soothing warmth. It feels like ages since she's had a bath, though she knows it's been only a day or so.

Taking her soap and washcloth from the little rack hanging on the tub's side, she lathers herself up, watching as Fen'harel moves back over to confer with Mythal. She dunks her head back into the water to wet it, then starts into washing her long hair. Taking her time, she works the soap through her wet locks, sifting her fingers through the silken strands as she dips her head back to rinse. Moving on, she scrubs down the rest of her body, sloughing off what seems like months of stress in the process.

Issuing a soft, contented sigh, she realizes she is more relaxed than she's ever been, as if she is absolutely free of the weight of everything that's happened in her life. When she finally rises from the tub, she feels as new and fresh as a baby after its first bath. She reaches for a towel and wraps it around her body, stepping out to dry herself.

"Feel better?" Mythal asks, knowing amusement trailing behind the sound of her voice.

Lavellan nods enthusiastically. "Much, yes. Didn't realize I needed that so badly."

Mythal chuckles. "It's one of the first stages of the re-birthing process. A good bath is my first recommendation when a new god is raised, every time."

"Attended a few of these, I suppose?" Lavellan guesses.

"I have," Mythal confirms with a warm smile. "And this is likely not the last. But for now, get dressed. There's training to be had, and discoveries of new talents to be made."

Lavellan heads to her wardrobe, donning small clothes and a simple tunic with soft leather breeches. Turning and snagging her foot wraps, she sits on the short bench next to her wardrobe and binds them up with practiced ease. Her auburn hair she quickly dries and styles into a practical tail, tying it off with a black ribbon. She looks up at Mythal and Fen'harel with a smiling nod.

"Ready," she announces.

"Excellent. Off we go, then." Mythal stands and leads the way to the stairs, Fen'harel following after taking Lavellan's hand in his. He casts the invisibility spell around them all, just before they enter the main hall, and they head towards the heart in silence. They reach the cell and Fen'harel dispels their cloak of stealth, while Mythal activates the rune on the wall. Lavellan can feel the power of the heart before she even steps foot on the stairway down.

Lavellan decides to inquire about it after the wall closes once more behind her. "Am I supposed to feel the heart from here?"

Fen'harel grins at her. "The heart has your mana in it now, so it would naturally call to you. But, that you can feel it already is a good sign; it means you are highly sensitive to ancient magics, as you should be. You will be able to find artifacts as easily as I can, most likely."

"Oh." She blinks. "Well, that's good, I think."

Fen'harel chuckles softly, nodding. "Yes, it is. Dorian's been wanting some more time in the field, and with you not having to take me along to detect them, he'll get that. And I'll get more time to study."

Lavellan frowns at him. "You think I just drag you out there for that?"

He hesitates, seeming to rethink his approach. "Well no, but you do bring me with you far more often than the other mages available to you. I'd assumed that was at least a portion of the reasoning behind it."

She stops their descent and turns fully to look at him. "It's not just that, my heart. You should know that."

He smiles, nodding as he tucks a flyaway strand of her hair behind her ear. "I do. But I will welcome the time to stay at home and study, much as I may worry in your absence."

Lavellan grins. "Well, you know you'll get nightly updates. Oh, speaking of which, will you be one of my trainers in Arlathan?"

"I will, yes. The others can teach you many things, but if your true form does turn out to be a wolf, I can teach you how to fight with it."

She nods, beaming a smile at him. "Good. I look forward to it."

He smiles in return and waves her on, continuing their trek down the stairs. Another flight, and the stairwell deposits them into the heart chamber, which gleams its welcome at them with the warmth of the braziers lining the glittering walls.

Mythal is already standing near the foci, smiling at them. "Now then, young daughter of mine, it is time to claim your true form. My son seems to think it would be the wolf that you summon in the Fade. Let us see if he is correct." She waves Lavellan toward herself. "Come here, and I will teach you the spell properly."

Lavellan approaches, looking at Mythal curiously. Mythal reaches out and lays her hand on Lavellan's brow, casting a spell she is unfamiliar with. Suddenly, a torrent of images flash through her mind, and she closes her eyes tightly against the assault. Her heartbeat races in her chest, her lungs constrict, and for a time unknown to her, all she knows is the magic Mythal has shown her. When the images and spell finally do cease, she opens her eyes to see Mythal standing before her, hands clasped together. The information slowly begins to order itself in her mind, forming the basis of a spell as ancient as time.

Staggering back, Lavellan shakes her head, hand lifting to her brow, as if to hold the flood of information back with her fingers. It doesn't help much, of course. A piercing light splits its way through her mind and reorders the very foundation of her magical knowledge. The fact that she's casting barely even registers in her thoughts, until the spell is already done. Opening her eyes, she looks up from her position on the floor, lying on her side. At first, she only sees a hazy wall, and the puffs of dust that her heavy breaths are blowing away from her. Then, she lifts her head awkwardly, looking down to realize that Fen'harel is kneeling by her side. And that her arms are most certainly _not_ elvhen.

Staring down at what are now her front legs, she wonders idly if she's been sucked into the Fade somehow. But that doesn't seem right, either. These paws are much larger than she's used to. Getting her legs under her, she pushes herself up off the ground, and looks around properly. Fen'harel stands by her side, Mythal a few paces away. She nudges Fen'harel with a soft sigh, belatedly realizing she's nearly as tall as he is in this form.

' _So... how do I change back?'_

He chuckles, his mirth flavoring his response, "The same as you usually do, my not-so-little wolf."

Nodding and rolling her eyes with a snort, she plods over to Mythal and sits, awaiting her appraisal.

Mythal smiles, tilting her head. "Are you waiting for something, Fen'len?"

' _Wolf child?'_ Shaking her head, she moves closer to Mythal and nudges her arm, trying to send the thought across. Nothing happens, aside from Mythal giving her a confused expression. Lavellan looks back to Fen'harel, cocking her own head in confusion.

He strolls over to her and threads his fingers through her fur. "Something amiss, my heart?"

' _I can't send my thoughts to her,'_ she sends over.

"Ah." He nods, understanding coming over his face. "That is likely because she is not bonded to you."

Lavellan frowns and whimpers. _'But you can do it to others, why can't I?'_

He smiles. "It is my particular talent set that allows for that. But, I've never been able to do it with Mythal. It's not surprising that you can't, either."

Huffing in annoyance, she shakes free of the form, returning to her elvhen self. "There, now I can talk." She looks at Mythal. "Why Fen'len?"

Mythal shrugs. "You are kin of the wolves, your true form proves this. It seems appropriate. Is that not what you wish to be called?"

Lavellan fidgets for a moment, considering. "Fen'len. Feehhn-lehn," She murmurs, rolling it around on her tongue, tasting it. Sighing, she shrugs. "It works. I suppose I _am_ a child to the rest of you. It just... feels flat, somehow."

Fen'harel chuckles. "Now you know how I felt, when I first received that name."

She looks at him with a surprised frown. " _You_ had that name?"

He nods, smiling. "I did, for a little while. They didn't quite know what to do with a son that didn't turn into a dragon."

Her eyebrows raise in shock. " _All_ of them turn into dragons?!"

"Well," he shrugs, "all who had been raised before me, yes. Then Dirthamen changed into a bear, and Falon'din into an owl. Suddenly, I wasn't the odd one out anymore."

"They were raised after you?" Lavellan asks.

"They were born after he was raised," Mythal responds. "So yes, they were. Andruil and Sylaise were the only two raised before him."

Lavellan sighs, shaking her head in remorse. "So much of what we think we know is wrong." She looks to Fen'harel with a grimace. "I can understand why you see us as ignorant heathens. I don't like it, but I understand it."

He weaves his fingers into hers, clasping her hand tightly. "You can change that now, my joy. From what your twin told me, you already started the process with your Keeper. The seed is planted; it need only be given proper nourishment to grow."

With a soft laugh, Lavellan shakes her head. "You weren't there, love. It will take more than that to convince her. And that's just one Keeper—a woman who's known me for most of my life, at that. Convincing the others, even in my own clan, will be next to impossible."

"I imagine showing them your true form might help, Fen'len." Mythal posits. "If they see you and the Dread Wolf together, what room will there be for doubting you?"

Lavellan huffs an incredulous little snort. "Yes, because seeing the Dread Wolf and his newly reborn mate will suddenly erase centuries of prejudice. I'm sorry, mother, but if we did that... they would try to kill us, long before they would ever stop to listen to our words."

Fen'harel sighs, nodding softly. "Though it fills me with sorrow, that is likely true. The clan I spoke of once, the ones I tried to tell the truth? When I showed them my wolf, they immediately attacked. I'd only shown them as a last resort, to help them understand that I knew what I spoke of. I was in no shape to fend off their attacks for more than a few moments. I fled. That is a failure that has weighed on me, ever since."

Lavellan shakes her head, her free hand coming up to cup his cheek, tugging until he faces her. "It is not your failure, my wolf—it is ours. We failed ourselves, by not keeping accurate records of our own history. The blame for that cannot be laid on anyone's shoulders but our own."

He exhales softly, pressing his brow to hers. "My thanks for your understanding, Fen'len. I still could have tried another way to show them the truth. I was... arrogant in my approach, then. It was Ill-considered."

She smiles softly, bringing her hand up to cup his cheek. "We'll figure it out together, my love."

"If a different approach is needed, I have an idea that may suit our needs," Mythal proposes, "one that your clan—indeed, all the clans—would be more apt to accept."

Lavellan and Fen'harel focus their attention on Mythal, giving her matching looks of open curiosity.

"I'm certainly open to suggestions," Lavellan replies, ceding the floor to Mythal with a gesture.

Mythal smirks. "How gracious of you. Very well, my suggestion is thus: Assign Tylaise the position of Ambassador, representing the pantheon to the Dalish clans of Thedas. As one related to a member of said pantheon, but not directly involved himself, they would be more likely to trust his word than ours, for now. His status as First of the Inquisitor's clan will also lend credence to his claims. A rather convenient coincidence, but I believe it will work in our favor."

Fen'harel turns to Lavellan with a skeptical expression, but before he can give voice to his objection, she speaks up.

"That might actually work... _if_ we can convince him to accept the position. That will be no simple task, in itself. He's certainly capable of it, though he might need some coaching." She bites her lip in contemplation.

"Yes, coaching in how _not_ to flirt atrociously with everything that moves," Fen'harel murmurs, leveling a disgruntled side-eye at Lavellan, who smacks his arm in retaliation.

"He's not _that_ bad!" she objects, folding her arms over her ribs as an indignant frown crinkles her features.

Fen'harel snorts. "We shall see. If he takes the position, and we begin receiving reports in a few years about multiple cases of excess child mages in the clans he's visited, we will know the truth."

Lavellan scoffs and rolls her eyes, shaking her head. She returns her attention to Mythal and nods. "I will speak to him about it. He would be a good candidate," she side-eyes a glare at Fen'harel, " _despite_ my wolf's incorrect assumptions."

Mythal dips her head slightly, an amused smile playing on her lips while she replies, "Excellent. I'm certain you can impress upon him the gravity of the role, sufficiently enough to dissuade any... incidents."

Lavellan sighs. "I'm sure he'll understand. He wasn't chosen as my replacement without cause; he is a superb First. His spellwork is very strong—much more finely tuned than mine—and he has well-developed leadership skills. I wanted to cede my position of First to him long before I left for the Conclave, but Desha wouldn't let me."

Fen'harel huffs, evidently unconvinced. "Perhaps we should adhere to your Keeper's wisdom, in this case. It's _entirely_ possible that the reason she wouldn't let you give your twin the position is because he wasn't ready. Could the reason he is now First be that there was no other to take your place?"

Mythal intercedes before Lavellan can. "Fen'harel, what is your issue with this elf? I have no objections to him—if you have valid reasons to doubt his qualifications, speak them plainly, or let us be done with this."

"Yes, Fen'harel," Lavellan snips, her eyes narrowing, crossing her arms as she takes a step toward him, "do tell us why Tylaise is so ill-suited to be our Ambassador. I would dearly love to hear this." She comes to a halt, scant inches before him, staring him down with an expectantly disgruntled expression.

He lifts an unimpressed eyebrow at her posturing, clasping his hands at the base of his spine and taking a breath. "Your twin is an immature child, my love. He is more concerned with showing off and copulating than having any actual responsibility."

Lavellan gapes at him, shocked at this affront to her brother's character. However much _partial_ truth there may be to it, Tylaise is more than just pranks and screwing—or at least _trying_ to—everything on two legs. "How dare you! Do you know him at all, my wolf? Scant hours ago, I was defending _you_ to _him_ —now I must perform the reverse? Do you realize how difficult it was to convince him to give you a chance? You know how many centuries of distrust and superstition I had to fight to accomplish that goal. Why would I go through all that effort, if it were only to be wasted on a vagrant?"

He deflates slightly, hands separating and coming to rest on each side of her waist, his head tilted imploringly. "My heart, please understand—I am not implying that he could not be a useful ally; merely that I do not think he has the maturity required for such an important position. Perhaps something simpler would be more suited to his capabilities?"

She moves backwards, effectively escaping his touch, her jaw locked and tense. She shakes her head and turns from him, heading back up the stairs. She can hear him follow, his footsteps trailing behind her, just before his voice.

"My heart, please-" she can hear the pleading in his voice, but she steels her heart against it.

Having already reached the first flight of stairs, she spins and glares at him. "No! How can you possibly expect me to just accept that you think my twin incompetent, especially when I _know_ he isn't? I _will_ speak to him and offer him the position, with or without your approval, Fen'harel. It is not _only_ your decision, and mother was the one to suggest it in the first place. If you insist on a democracy, we can wait until the others can have a say, but I somehow doubt they will have objections. There is no-one better suited to be our ambassador, nor more willing to fill the vacancy, I guarantee you."

He sighs softly, shaking his head. "I have many agents who could serve far better-"

" _Your_ agents, Fen'harel," she cuts him off. "They aren't a First, trusted by the Dalish. If you want to use an agent for the city elves, by all means, do so—but the Dalish should be handled by their own, and you know it. They will not trust an outsider."

"You assume I do not have agents within the Dalish clans?" he asks her, incredulity tinting his tone.

She snorts, rolling her eyes. "If you did, you would not be so reviled, _Dread Wolf_. If you did, we would not _need_ a fucking Ambassador!"

"Enough!" Mythal pulls them apart from each other, stern disappointment clear on her visage. "You bicker like the children you are. Tylaise is more suited for the role in this moment than either of _you_! Collect your senses, since your dignity is beyond recovery for the moment." She huffs and looks at Fen'harel. "Give me a valid reason why her twin cannot fill the position adequately. So far I have seen no evidence of his incompetence, neither from witnessing it, nor hearing of it from other sources. Explain."

He shakes his head and sighs sharply. "I have already spoken my piece, Mythal. If she wishes to send her twin on a mission that he is bound to fail, that is her decision. I wash my hands of it."

Lavellan growls at him, sick of trying to reason with him. Mythal sends a glare her way that could melt steel, and she falls silent.

"What an eloquent response, Fen'len—thank you for proving my point so perfectly," Mythal snaps.

Lavellan's bravado sinks to the bottom of a very deep ocean—along with a sizable chunk of her anger—quickly replaced by shame. "Apologies, mother."

Mythal purses her lips and sighs, looking back and forth between the two of them appraisingly, before settling her gaze on Lavellan. "Save your apologies, girl—you may need them more later." The All-Mother looks to the Dread Wolf. "For now, I will speak to Tylaise _myself_ , and determine whether he is eligible to be our Ambassador. Will that serve to assuage your concerns, Fen'harel?"

Lavellan watches as he gives a short, reluctant nod, and rolls her eyes at the sight.

"Excellent! In the meantime, I recommend that you two put aside your argument over Tylaise, and get to training. She is a wolf, thus will benefit the most from your tutelage out of all of us, Fen'harel. I'll return once I've spoken to her brother."

He bows his acquiescence, and Lavellan joins him belatedly as Mythal passes her for the stairs. Fen'len glances back at him and shakes her head, heaving a heavy sigh. She wonders, as she looks down to the space between them, how long it will take him to apologize for defaming an elf he barely knows. How long will he insist on thinking ill of her twin? He has all of eternity, after all, as does she. She hopes he won't make use of it to maintain his current opinion.

He is the first to speak. "Apparently your particular abilities do not include magically bending others to your will. Good to know."

She blinks at him stupidly for a moment, until she parses his meaning. "Wait—are you telling me this was all a trick, some test to see what I could do?"

He shrugs, a minuscule smirk forming on his lips. "Not entirely, but yes. I truly do believe your twin to be the wrong elf for the job; but if Mythal decides otherwise, I will be overruled. Regardless, we now know your abilities do not include mental manipulation. That gives us a basis to begin with."

She clenches her jaw, molars grinding as she huffs through her nose, then ticks her jaw to the side angrily. "Yes, because I will be oh, so receptive to accepting instruction from the one who thinks so little of my twin."

His barely-there smirk disappears, replaced by utter seriousness. "Whether you are receptive or not, you must have this training if you wish to survive. It is not a matter for debate."

An incredulous expression creases her brow. "'Survive'? I'll just be dreaming—there's nothing to survive. Death doesn't stick in the Fade."

He sighs, remorse clouding his features. "It does in Arlathan. In its current state, at least. Death there, while not fatal outside of the Fade, results in what is now known as tranquility."

A horrible chill races up her spine at the news. Tranquility is a word _no_ mage enjoys hearing. She shakes her head. "But tranquility can be reversed. It requires a the aide of a spirit, but it is possible."

Fen'harel gives a sad sigh. "Reversing the effect does not always work. Thus, it behooves us all to teach you what you must know, to survive. There is much more to fighting while there, than there is to fighting here. I suggest we begin, unless you had particular plans for today?"

Lavellan blinks and shakes her head, then sighs resignedly. Not getting the apology, then. Fantastic. Well, if what he says about tranquility is true, she certainly doesn't want to risk it.

Training it is.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> By the by, if any of you are interested, here's my info:  
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	24. Chapter 24

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know, it's been a while.  
> Understatement.  
> But anyway, I'm back, guys!  
> Have chapter!  
> ❤️*tosses confetti and chapter*❤️
> 
> * * *
> 
> Note: I'd like to note in this note here that I've edited this whole story to change to hover-text translations, for instant gratification and ease of reading! Wheee!

Moving quietly through the all-too-familiar keep, Mythal observes the scene she comes upon with mild amusement. Her new daughter's birth-twin, and her _shem_ best friend seem to be holding a bit of an impromptu competition...

"What about this one?" Tylaise inquires, drawing a deeply purple flame forth in his hand, eyes shining with the same fiery glow.

"Pfft," Dorian dismisses the spell off-handedly, "a parlor trick. Amusing, but pointless. Come now, surely if you've trained in necromancy, you know something more advanced than..." he waves vaguely at the now fading display of magic, a less than impressed expression clouding his features, " _that._ Show me something interesting, and I might consider teaching you a few things."

"I'd take him up on his offer if I were you, Tylaise; for a human, he's rather talented," Mythal supplies as she makes herself known to the pair, a sly smile tugging at her lips.

Tylaise and Dorian both turn toward her at her suggestion, Dorian offering a small nod, Tylaise a slightly more groveling bow of respect.

"All-Mother, I didn't expect to see you again, so soon. What brings you to this corner of the keep?" asks the still half-bowing elf.

Dorian nods slightly. "I must confess my own curiosity on that front; I hadn't thought you'd remain after delivering our fearless leader home. To what do we owe the honor?"

Mythal looks between the two of them with an apparently studious expression. After a moment, she gives them a wise smile. "I have many reasons to remain, for a time. As for why I'm here in particular," she specifies, looking to Tylaise, "I aim to speak to you, Tylaise. Alone," she adds pointedly, glancing up at Dorian.

Before Dorian can reply, Tylaise speaks up, "If I may, All-Mother, I know of a place we could speak with relative privacy, if that is your wish."

Her brow tilts just a hair in surprise, a tiny smirk forming before she acquiesces, tipping her head gently, "Certainly." She gestures toward the stairs. "Lead the way, _da'len_."

* * * * *

Tylaise turns, eyes wide once he faces the stairs, taking a breath to steady trembling nerves. He'd had enough happen in the past two days, without being pressed into a _private conversation_ with one of the _Creators_ , for Andruil's... _fenedhis_ , that's really _not_ helping! He leads the way down the stairs and across the main hall into the garden, doing his best not to simply implode on the spot. The weather being a bit miserable today, there are very few outside, so it's relatively simple to find a quiet, secluded bench to sit on. He stops beside it, turns and gestures toward it in obvious invitation. He waits until she chooses a spot and stiffly sits as far away from her as he can, without being rude.

"Do you think I'm going to bite, boy? I may turn into a dragon, but I'm not one right now," comes her sharp reprimand.

He looks at her briefly and huffs a sigh, deflating a bit as a pang of regret burns in his gut. "No, of course not, I just... well, I'm not exactly sure what the protocol is here. Not everyday you get asked to a private conversation with a Creator. Maybe there was a time that was a common occurrence, but it's not _now_."

A soft chuckle he barely catches rolls around in his ears before dissipating. "There's the truth, if I ever heard it. Well, not to worry child, I've come to you with an offer, nothing more."

Tylaise holds a hand up, already shaking his head. "I'm sorry, but I already told you all, I'm not ready to make that decision yet. I need time to consider—"

"Do you always assume people are going to beat their heads against the wall of a single question until either they or the wall breaks, Tylaise?" she evenly interjects.

He stops short, staring at her; hand still half-mast. "What?"

"You assumed I was going to offer immortality again, yes?" she clarifies.

He considers her query, eyes searching the spaces around her, slowly tilting his head in thought before returning his gaze to her. "I did... It seems I was wrong, however. Apologies. Please, continue."

She nods graciously, seeming somewhat bemused by him, for whatever reason. "Thank you. My offer is thus: that you become ambassador to the Dalish clans for my family, those you call the Creators. Our numbers may be diminished now, but that will change with time. It is high time the proper story is told, and your people prepared for what is coming."

He sits, blinking for a few long moments, then swallows firmly. "I... see."

Mythal's vessel reaches over, a gauntleted hand clasping over his knee and patting it gently. "I'll give you some time to think it over. If you have questions, write them on this." She procures a small book and charcoal stick from thin air as she stands and hands them to him. "When you are certain of your answer, I'll visit again. In the meantime, consider carefully."

He looks up at her and she smiles, before promptly disappearing, to his utter astonishment. He casts about for any sign of her, but there is none to be had. He frowns down at the tiny book in his hands, and opens it carefully to the first page, which seems to already have something written on it.

" _Consider carefully."_

He arches a brow at the page, once more foolishly looking around to see if she'd somehow reappeared. Finding only a few other fellow mortals, who give him no more consideration than a speck of dirt, he returns his focus to the paper. Again he frowns at it, this time in confusion, as he witnesses the now clean page before him. He flips to the next page, which is also blank, then back, before closing the book entirely in frustrated consternation.

What kind of god offers such an important position to someone like him? Certainly not one in their right mind. He'd never been known as a particularly... diplomatic elf. Oh, he could certainly talk or bluff his way out of many situations, but that was usually only after he'd gotten himself into a fix that needed getting out of. Otherwise, diplomatic relations were not exactly his strong suit. The only real reason he could see for Mythal's offer was his relation to... well. Her new.. daughter?

 _Not_ attempting to wrap his head around that one just yet, thank you. Soon, but not now.

Regardless, it seems the most likely candidate for Mythal's reasoning. It certainly isn't his glaring lack of any other qualifications. He opens the book after a reluctant moment, and poises the charcoal over it, pressing down to write...

" _I'm not my sister. I'm no diplomat. Why me?"_

It's a moment before the rough charcoal scrawl fades from the page, replaced by,

" _We don't need a diplomat. We need a First who has a stake in spreading the truth about the Creators among the clans. That's you."_

He pauses, mulling that over in his head as he slides the tip of his tongue over the edges of his teeth. He looks back down, preparing to write again, tongue captured between his teeth.

" _So you need a puppet."_

The words are burned from the page this time, the ashes of the charcoal falling down and turning into the next lines to appear,

" _If I needed a puppet, I could raise a corpse and speak to them through it. I have no need of a mouthpiece. What I do need is someone who's seen the truth first-hand, has been convinced of its veracity, and can relay it honestly to others of his kind."_

He nibbles his lower lip thoughtfully, then lifts an eyebrow and puts coal to parchment.

" _Then it's a missionary you need. And an intermediary. The medium of contact, as it were."_

This time, his text calmly falls into the next words,

" _You're starting to get the idea now. Still think you're not the elf for the job?"_

He peers up at the cloudy sky, pondering her question. He responds with a few of his own.

" _What would the job entail, in precise terms? What's in it for me, exactly? How long-term would this be? Would I be visiting all the clans? Some of them are outright hostile to strangers, you know."_

He waits a bit longer than usual for the response. He spends the time watching the clearly Orlesian couple snogging on the bench across from him, a slightly amused smirk on his lips. When he finally tears his eyes away from them, there's a reply waiting for him.

" _You'd be traveling to all known approachable clans, and speaking directly to their Keepers and Firsts, as a representative of the Creators. It would last for as long as you are able to complete the task; whether that is your entire life, or merely a portion of it, depending on your eventual life span. The benefits would be the favor of my family, and the ability to frequently see your sister. I imagine there would also be a fairly high amount of prestige derived from being our ambassador, amongst your peers._

_"I won't lie to you: this will be no easy task. I know convincing them will be difficult, especially given the centuries of outright lies that have been circulated regarding us. But I believe that, if there is anyone who could be persistent enough to manage this task, it is you, Tylaise of clan Lavellan."_

He purses his lips as he reads it over again, taking a slow breath, then letting it flow from him unregulated as he once more searches the heavens. He bobs his knee impatiently while he weighs his options. His still pinched lips tug to one corner of his mouth as he bends to press charred coal to paper once more.

" _I'll need to speak to my Keeper before I give my answer. I've no second to replace me, but... I have to admit, it's a unique situation. There's a lot to consider. If I could beg some time to think on it all, I would be most grateful."_

The response is almost immediate.

" _I'm not the one with limited time, Tylaise. But take what time you need. Take your sister with you, when you speak to your Keeper. She insists."_

He huffs a minute laugh at the last bit, shaking his head and closing his eyes, resting back against the wall. _Of course she does_.

* * * * *

Fen'len groans her frustration into the air, shaking her hands out and taking a breath. "Again," she demands, determination in her tone.

" _Te_ ," Fen'harel denies, slashing the air before him with his hand. "We are finished for now. You can resume training in Uthenera."

Lavellan seems taken aback, confused, then annoyed at his refusal. "Resuming tonight is all well and fine, but should I not train as much as I possibly can?"

He flashes her a fond smile, shaking his head slightly. "You have more than enough time to train, _'ma sa'lath_. You need to start thinking in terms of your status. Your lifespan is infinite now, barring a violent death. It is true that we need help on the front lines, and I wish you to be prepared before you join us there, but impatience will get you nowhere in training, with anyone but father." He pauses, gaze sliding up to the ceiling as he ponders, before dropping back down to her. "..And possibly Dirthamen. The rest value patience and learning a concept thoroughly before proceeding to the next. It would behoove you to display such patience now," he concludes, in a gentle, instructive tone.

He watches as she eyes him speculatively for a few moments, then dips her chin infinitesimally, looking as if her concentration is a thousand miles away. She doesn't seem particularly displeased, at least. "Alright. I do want to practice something before I go, at least. You don't have to stay, if you'd rather not," she adds, waving him off as she turns, taking slow, ponderous steps toward the heart's foci.

He tilts his head, naturally curious. "I can stay if you like, of course. What is it you wish you practice?"

Fen'len tosses a faint smile over her shoulder at him, along with the answer. "My wolf. She doesn't... feel right."

He frowns slightly, belatedly following her, observing as she trails her fingertips along the grooves in the foci. "What is it you believe feels wrong about her?"

She shakes her head, her worried expression more visible now as she comes to a halt on the opposite side of the foci from him. Her eyes lift from the diamond to meet his gaze evenly. "I'm not sure. It felt like there was something missing, for some reason. I'm not sure what she looked like, other than huge, so I'm not entirely certain what _would_ be missing, if anything. It just felt... odd."

He chuckles softly. "She— _you_ , rather, were not so large as you assume. No larger than I, at my first attempt with my own wolf. We change our size to suit the situation; there is no set size that a god's true self must take. As for her appearance, I can describe it to you... or, I suppose, we could adjourn to our quarters, and you could simply use the mirror there to see for yourself." He shrugs gently, smiling at her in quiet peace.

It's an expression she doesn't echo. Her features remain pinched in the slightly worried, morose form she'd pressed them into. "Yes, I suppose that might help," she supplies, nodding.

Somehow, he's unconvinced. He takes a step closer to her, mild concern allowed to display itself in his visage, despite the thudding of his heart behind the facade. He reaches out hesitantly, not quite touching her arm as he inquires, "Is something the matter, _vhen'an'ara_?"

Her sight lifts from her hands where they rest on the foci, to level with his once more. "No, I'm just worried." She smiles softly, one hand dragging his over to rest on her arm, placing her hand over his and giving a reassuring squeeze; her gaze settles on their point of contact. "The future is an uncertain thing now. This could change everything I know about, or only alter what comes after." She lifts her hand, her fingers tracing the patterns of the lines on the back of his hand. "I can't see it, yet. It troubles me. It's difficult to lead without knowing the steps of the dance from here."

He purses his lips on a smile that threatens to tug at his mouth, though he can do nothing about the softening around his eyes which truly gives him away. He lifts his hand and hers in the process, threading his opposite hand between her arm and waist, coming to rest on her side. He lets the smile form on his lips as he replies, "Then let me lead, and you won't have to worry so much."

She arches a brow skeptically, a half smile, half objection rising on her lips before he shushes her with a quick, chaste kiss.

He carefully starts to lead her from behind the foci, taking slow, gradual steps as if already dancing. When they clear any obstructions, he begins the steps in earnest, showing off a bit if he's honest, leading her in a dance he'd learned in his youth.

To his only mild surprise, she follows quite well, though she obviously doesn't know the steps. She chimes in as she looks up from their feet, eying him with a curious expression as it makes its way to her face, "What do you suggest then, _sa'lath_? Would you become my advisor, officially?"

He tilts one eyebrow, interest piqued. "You don't believe that alone would alter events significantly?" He smirks, shaking his head. "But no, that is not what I meant. I simply meant that you allow me to shoulder some of the burdens of planning and contingencies. To help you prepare for whatever outcomes may persist from this change. There will be consequences of this, though what they are, I cannot say. It is never obvious, in the beginning."

"What were the consequences of you being raised?" she asks, her eyes reflecting his face back at him from their depths.

He answers with sorrow in his voice, "I could not prevent my sister's arrogance from destroying the best of us in the height of her madness. I firmly believe that is the consequence I personally garnered for my power. As for the lot of us, look around you, at the world we live in. Our hubris broke this land, and suffered it and its people to live a half-life—not even that, really. We fight to make it right, but... we are worn ragged. You've seen us; we are in no fit state to rule anything, nor do we deserve to."

She shakes her head at him, confusion evident in her pristine features. "But that was only the versions of you that are in Uthenera. Your bodies are unchanged from their original states, are they not? Well, apart from Mythal's, I suppose."

He sighs, looking her over as if considering his answer carefully. "True, to a point. But when one's spirit is broken, it is unlikely one will be in a fit state to rule."

Fen'len frowns, peering up at him with concern, the hand that'd rested on his shoulder lifting to cup his cheek. "Is your spirit broken, Fen'harel?"

The old wolf smiles down at his not-so-little wolf. "Not when I look at you, _'ma fen_."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

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